Convenience
by madamequeso
Summary: After a terrible accident, the bowels of the opera house call Christine home. First shot at fan-fic, constructive criticism welcome!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

There was movement in the darkness. And for the first time in so long, it wasn't coming from him. There were fumblings at the Rue Scribe entrance, and then, miraculously, it opened. His thoughts immediately went to Nadir, but no, the Persian had left Paris, exhausted by the sordid affair of trying to bring Erik back from a precipice he had too willingly flung himself off of. Perhaps Erik himself had been careless and left the entrance open. It wouldn't be surprising, given the state of his mind since-well, since he had abandoned any pretense of truly living.

As Erik stalked towards the door, trusty lasso in hand, he wondered for the thousandth time why he hadn't died yet. Lord knew he'd tried, attempting to expire through sheer force of will. But through all the years he had been a survivor, and his body refused to simply shut down on command, even occasionally forcing him to eat or sleep in his weaker moments. And perhaps, in his heart of hearts, he wasn't so eager to leave this living Hell for the one beyond. Though he hated to admit it, perhaps there was still a piece of him that couldn't bear to leave a world that still had her in it, a shred of his soul left that was afraid to die, in case it missed a chance of seeing her face or hearing her voice one last time. Certainly they wouldn't be meeting in the world beyond. She was the true angel, a fragile thing of light that was always meant for heaven. And he, he thought, as he silently stalked around upturned tables and scattered sheets of music, fingering the familiar length of rope that would gain one more victim very shortly, he had always been a creature of darkness.

She stumbled blindly through the darkness, her body too shocked to release the sobs she could feel building. She still wasn't sure if coming here was a good idea, but then again there was little room left in her mind for rational thought. All she knew was that she needed comforting badly, and this was the only place left in the world that she had ever found it. Then a terrible thought went through her. What if he wasn't here? There was little left for an Opera Ghost who had first been abandoned by his leading lady, and shortly after by the rest of the cast. But no, if she knew him at all he wouldn't be able to leave, wouldn't be able to abandon the darkness that was so rich with sighs and screams and strains of music that couldn't quite be forgotten. Just as miles away under the bright country air, she hadn't been able to truly leave either. As she felt a tightly coiled rope settle around her neck and pool over her shoulders, a moment away from being pulled tight, she knew that her fears were unfounded. Her angel was here, and suddenly it didn't matter much whether or not her life was about to end. For the first time in so very long, she felt at peace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**A/N: Aww, thanks for the reviews and follows guys, it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside :P As far as canon for this story, think Kay plot without the part where Christine returns at the end, but most likely details from Leroux, ALW and my own faulty memory will leak in.**

He knew the moment he had his victim, throwing the rope perfectly and feeling the corresponding jolt as it landed around a neck. Just one more quick movement to pull the noose tight, and he could dispose of the intruder without ever having to see their face. But something made him pause, a shiver down his spine that told him he was about to make a terrible mistake. And under the smell of smoke that hovered around the fool who had entered his domain, there was a faint scent that was agonizingly familiar. Most likely it was his deranged mind playing tricks on him, but he had to be sure. "Who dares disturb the Opera Ghost?" He intoned, sounding bored and annoyed when really his heart was jack hammering in his chest. Instead an answer to the question, his own name was flung back at him in a voice he would recognize at the ends of the earth.

"_Erik_." She cried, and suddenly small arms were flung around his waist, squeezing him tight, and a feminine head was burrowed snugly into his chest. He stiffened at the contact, arms hanging limply at his sides, and flashed back to the only other time she had touched him like this, the night she fooled him and betrayed him, leaving him for dead on the arm of another man. He was supposed to hate this girl, but as he felt sobs shake her body the rage wouldn't come. He was sure it would later, all the stronger for its delay, but her tears had always been his undoing. In that moment she wasn't a liar or a temptress or the woman that had scorned his love, she was only Christine, and she needed him, just as she had the first time he saw her, crying for her papa on the cold stone floor of the Opera House chapel. And he knew with a sickening dread that he would keep her here through whatever madness had caused her return. Whether or not she intended it this visit would be permanent, even if it killed them both.

She came back to herself enough to release him, as he had still not responded to her embrace, and he fumbled around in the dark for a candle and match. The picture they revealed made his stomach drop. She was covered head to toe in soot, sheathed in a nightgown that had probably once been white but was now stained grey just as her skin and hair were. The brown eyes that haunted his dreams were wide and staring, and fresh tears made tracks down the grime on her face. The lasso still hung limply about her neck, and he removed it in a flash, feeling sickened that he had come so close to using the murderous tool on her. Her sobs suddenly became violent coughs, and he eased her down onto a sofa, lighting more candles as she wheezed and finally caught her breath. He found his voice at last, saying, "Christine, what on earth has happened to you?"

"A fire." She breathed, so low and soft he barely heard her. "Raoul's house, our house, it burned to the ground."

"And the Vicomte?" He asked with mixed emotions. He had wished the boy dead thousands of times, but always stopped himself from fulfilling his urges with the image of Christine in pain. The image that was before him now. She shook her head with a kind of horrified finality, then buried her face in her hands, shaking uncontrollably.

"It's all right Christine." He said, placing a hesitant hand on her back, then quickly removing it. Of course it wasn't all right. He knew the pain of losing the one you loved, and if her feelings for the foolish Vicomte reached even a fraction of what Erik's were for her, she was in the worst sort of agony. Clearly being pawed at by a monster wasn't going to help her. Deciding that the least he could do was make her physically comfortable, he asked "Are you injured at all?" She shook her head without removing it from her hands, and said in a muffled voice

"Just my throat hurts from the smoke."

"I'll make you some tea, and draw you a bath. There are still some gowns in your room that you can use if you'd like." She made no response, but he proceeded with his tasks anyway, wincing as he noticed the disrepair his previously beautiful home had fallen into. Luckily he hadn't had the heart to disturb anything in her room, but he would have to shield her from the chaos of the rest of the house tonight, then straighten up as she slept. He would need to procure real meals for her, not the scraps he had been living off of, and make the little house on the lake warmer, as he had stopped feeling the cold. Perhaps tomorrow he could find some trivial duets they could sing to lighten the mood, then-he stopped himself. This wasn't the old days, no matter how much it felt like it as he made tea with honey and lemon exactly the way she liked it. The girl in the other room wasn't cheerful and naïve, caught under the spell of his music and his voice. She was a widowed Vicomtess grieving her loss. Perhaps she craved a momentary reprieve from the world above, but soon she would come to her senses and wish to return to her responsibilities and proper place. Then she would leave again, probably marrying another wealthy gentleman after an appropriate amount of time had passed.

_No._ He slammed the tea cup down with such force that the bottom chipped and he was splattered with the hot liquid. He'd given her up, given her over to her precious Vicomte so they could taste happiness. But she had lost him, and he wouldn't watch the same thing happen with another man, he couldn't.

He waited while she bathed and escorted her into bed, and couldn't help thinking how right it looked for her to be back in the room that had been designed for her. As he fussed with her blankets and attempted to rid them of the worst of their dust, she said "I'm frightened." He almost let out a cruel laugh at the ridiculous statement.

"For once, my dear, you chose to come to me. I should think you would have realized by now that no harm will come to you in my presence." His voice had gone cold but inside he was burning. How dare she fear his nearness after fleeing into his arms mere moments ago? She shook her head slightly.

"I'm scared of being alone in the dark, of the things I'll see when I try to sleep." She paused. "Will you sing me to sleep?" He hesitated. He hadn't sung since she left, had no reason to. He was afraid to do so again, afraid of what would come out of him with Christine returned, lying in sheets he had rubbed his wretched face against until they lost her smell, wearing a nightgown he had run his fingers over and almost ripped apart so many times. But he gave into her wishes, as he always did, and picked a simple, old lullaby. The soft tone he always used to coax her into a state of calm came back to him easily, and before long her breathing had fallen into a steady rhythm. He kept singing quietly long after she was asleep, confessing his love and pain and anger without saying a word, knowing she wouldn't remember in the morning. When he finally ran out of song he spent a few moments just staring before getting up to leave. As he shut her bedroom door, he knew he would help Christine recover from her loss as best he could. And she would do the same for him for the rest of her life. He locked the door with a hard look in his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

She woke up with his voice in her head, and while this wasn't an uncommon occurrence, it never failed to make her feel momentarily happy, and then very guilty. She rolled over, intent on planting her husband's smooth features firmly in her mind as she did every time this happened, possibly kissing him awake to remind herself who she truly loved. But something was wrong. Raoul's tousled blonde hair wasn't sticking up from his pillow. His comforting weight wasn't holding down the other half of the mattress. In fact this wasn't even their mattress, or their room. As she sat up and recognized her surroundings as the Louise-Philippe room in Erik's house, everything came rushing back to her with horrible clarity. She doubled over the side of the bed and was promptly sick. She let out a shuddering moan and pulled the bed sheets over her head, determined not to face the rest of the day or any of the long moments of the rest of her life.

A life without Raoul. The very thought took her breath away. Through all of this madness he had been her strength, her sanity. A reminder that there was a real and good world outside of opera houses and masquerades. She felt as if she was falling fast down a dark hole, and there was no one there to catch her.

There was a knock at the door, startling her out of her morbid thoughts. "Christine, are you all right?" She let out a cold laugh that didn't sound like herself. Allright? She doubted she had ever been less all right in her life, except perhaps the last time she was down here, certain she would somehow manage to bring about her own end as well as that of the two men she cared about most. Goodness, what had prompted her to come back? It seemed any man that figured importantly in her life was doomed to die. She had probably just shortened Erik's life expectancy significantly. The whole thing suddenly struck her as funny in some deranged way, and she found herself laughing again, though the sound lacked any joy. "I'm coming in." Erik announced, sounding equal parts concerned and exasperated. "Are you decent?" This had her laughing even harder. She had ripped this man's heart out and tossed it on the floor, only returning when she needed something, and he wanted to know if she was decent? And then the door opened and he was there, just as tall and imposing as ever in his black evening wear and black mask that covered everything on his face but his thin lips, lips that were scarred and twisted like the rest of him, but had clung to hers with such desperate passion that it still made her knees weak when she remembered.

"I can't do this." She said as she watched him take in her pitiful state, including the embarrassing pile of vomit next to the nightstand.

"Can't do what?" He asked softly, meeting her eyes. The intense emotions visible in his made her stomach squirm, and she looked away quickly like the coward she was.

"Keep living without him." She whispered. He let out a sharp hiss of breath at her words, and she realized she was not yet done hurting this man. Perhaps she never would be.

"Then by all means, Vicomtess, kill yourself. It would be very fitting, very operatic. And I suppose I would be left to dispose of your body? Is that why you came down here, so you would have someone to properly mourn and bury you? And I would too, I would give you a beautiful service, write a transcendent dirge. Just say the word, I'll even provide a poison that will make it quick and painless. You see, we are not so different, Christine, I've thought about these things too." She felt her mouth form an indignant "O" as he spoke, and suddenly she was out of bed and on her feet.

"I am _not _going to kill myself, how could you even suggest it?" And did her life mean so little to him that he wouldn't even try to stop her? A corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile.

"Good, I'm glad that's settled. I don't ever want to hear you speaking of the subject again." She sagged, feeling the fight go out of her as quickly as it had come.

"Then what am I going to do?" She asked in a small voice, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Sing." He said, as though it was the simplest answer in the world. She shook her head.

"I don't think I'll ever sing again." She expected him to rail against her, to call her a foolish child for casting aside a skill he had so carefully cultivated, but instead he calmly regarded her for a long moment, and said

"We shall see about that." He turned on his heel to leave, and said casually over his shoulder "Get dressed, Christine DeChagny, then come tell me exactly how your husband died." She gasped, her gut clenching painfully at the words that made her pain and loneliness concrete and real.

"Why?"

"You slept half the day away, my dear. Completely understandable after your ordeal, of course, but I had ample time to visit the DeChagny estate, and I am certain a well built manor such as that does not simply burn so systematically and completely on accident. If it was me, I would want to know who was responsible." He shut the door before she had a chance to reply. At any rate Christine had no idea what she would have said. Her mind was in an even worse turmoil than before. Her Raoul, murdered? Who would do such a thing? Why? Her husband was the most charming, least offensive of men. Everyone from aristocrats to servants loved him. It was possible Erik was wrong, or lying, she supposed. But she'd never known Erik to be wrong about anything, and could think of no motivation for such a lie.

And if it was true? She couldn't help but feel that if the fire wasn't an accident, but arson, it was somehow connected to her. It was only through pure luck that she wasn't dead too, perhaps someone wanted her gone, not him. If that was the case she needed to know, needed to find a way to make sure she never hurt anyone else.

Christine cleaned herself up and dressed in a daze, then wandered out to face Erik on unsteady legs. She found him sitting at his organ, simply resting his hands on the keys, mouth puckered deep in thought. It was just as well, everything became harder to say when his blazing eyes were on her.

She took a deep breath, the kind that would sustain her through eight bars of an aria, and began to speak. She told Erik of waking up to the acrid smell of smoke filling her lungs, to heat everywhere as she screamed out her husband's name. But he was nowhere to be found, had stayed up working in his study while she retired early. She recalled stumbling out to the third floor balcony of their bedroom, intent on hurling herself off of it and hoping to survive the fall, but her vision swimming and her body hitting the stone floor before she could jump. She began to blink back tears as she spoke of waking to the voices of Raoul's sisters and his mother, and an unknown male voice announcing that they had found the Vicomte's body. Christine wiped her tears away impatiently and continued on, suddenly needing to Erik to know everything, to make it all right. She described the wailing of Raoul's family while she had lain there, too stunned to move. Then how they asked after the body of his wife as an after thought. The man had said no, they didn't find anything, but that the fire in the master bedroom had been too strong for his men to navigate, and if anyone had been in that room they certainly weren't alive now. Then how Raoul's elder sister, Adeline, who had always been at least civil towards Christine despite the entire family's disapproval of her murky past, had sniffed and said "What a pity" without a trace of inflection or feeling. The other two women had murmured half hearted agreements for the policeman's sake, then asked in trembling voices what was to be done with the Vicomte's remains. Christine couldn't find words to describe the numbness that had overtaken her then, how her feet had taken over as her mind shut down, and carried her away from the cold world that had never shown her any love the moment her husband left the room. They had brought her to a place that had not always been accepting, but one that she at least understood. When the theater was enamored of her they made it plain, just as they did when they hated her or burned with jealousy. French society was all cold smiles and concealed daggers, and she would never find a place in it without Raoul by her side. But she couldn't find the words to express all of this to Erik. Instead she simply ended with

"So I left."

"And came here." His voice was once again eerily calm. Christine still couldn't tell how Erik felt about her return, and was too frightened to ask. So she just shrugged and said

"Where else was I to go?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Erik hated not being able to understand things. His whole life if he was thrown into a new situation he observed those around him, read the proper books and brought himself up to speed. But if there was one thing Christine had taught him it was that there was no book in the world that could explain what went on in the minds of women. However Christine's behavior since her return confused and frightened him more than usual. She had taken to following him around his house like a ghost, giving vague, polite answers when asked a direct question, but otherwise remaining silent. She hadn't mentioned her late husband since he made her describe the events of the fire to him, and if he ever mentioned the subject her mouth would snap shut, and she would retreat to her room for several hours, then return to his side as though nothing had happened.

He tried to elicit a response with music, starting with an old Mozart favorite of hers. She stiffened as she heard the first notes, but otherwise had no reaction. He moved on to sadder, darker pieces, hoping to match her frame of mind, but nothing drew her out. He resorted to singing the introduction of a duet they had rehearsed so many times that he knew it must still be in her head. She corrected her posture and took a breath as her entrance drew near, but as his voice subsided to give way to hers she turned on her heel and fled without a word.

With an annoyed sigh Erik began flipping through sheets of music at random, landing on a sheaf emblazoned with his own messy scrawl: _Don Juan Triumphant. _Unbidden, an image of Christine in a wedding dress filled his mind. He remembered that day with vivid clarity, remembered ordering her back to her room before he could-no, he would not be playing that piece today. Frustrated, he let his fingers wander, thinking how unfair it was of her to return and treat him with such coldness. He was reminded of her question, "where else was I to go?" and realized the truth of it. She had no one but him in the world, but that didn't mean she had developed any affection for him. When forced to choose between being out on the street or under the opera, between crushing loneliness and him, she had chosen Erik, but just barely. It wasn't fair, for her to come back and merely tolerate him while her presence was making him burn with more desire than ever before.

He removed his hands from the keys with an ugly misplaced chord, realizing he hadn't composed anything original since she left. He heard a soft gasp, and saw Christine watching him over the back of an armchair, her eyes wide and glistening. He opened his mouth, unsure what to say, but she shook her head rapidly.

"Please, don't speak." She whispered. "Just play. Your music, not theirs." He raised an eyebrow behind the mask, but did as she asked. His fingers flowed with ease after almost three years of being clumsy and uninspired. Before he knew it he was lost, carried away on the music until it had been hours and Christine had dozed off.

Erik approached her slowly, wearily, and picked her up as though she was made of glass. He tried not to dwell on how right she felt in his arms, how peaceful she looked as he gently laid her in bed. But the sentiments he had tried to banish so many times came rushing back regardless. As her head hit the pillow she let out a contented sigh, a slight smile gracing her features. "Raoul, be a dear and put out the candle." She mumbled in her sleep. Erik felt his back stiffen and his hands clench, but he forced himself not to make a sound, not to wake Christine and have to face her. He made a swift and silent exit, extinguishing the candle with a violent gesture as he went.

The next day he resolved not to talk until she did. He prepared her breakfast and watched her eat in moody silence, then stormed into his library without a word. By the end of the day neither of them had spoken, though she periodically drifted in and out of the room he was occupying. By the time he sensed that darkness had fallen he couldn't take another moment, so he stole out of the house, assuming that she was asleep.

He hadn't forgotten his theory about the Vicomte's death, and knew he wouldn't rest easy until he understood the motive and knew whether Christine was still in danger. It was surprisingly easy to find informants, just as he had years before in Persia. Even across oceans, the hideaways of undesirables who would talk for the right price, or the right threat, looked remarkably similar. But he returned to the opera hours later feeling more frustrated than ever. The only thing anyone seemed to know about the DeChagny's was that the wife had a shady past, and her body had never been found. Erik had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the numerous suggestions that Christine was behind the suspicious fire.

He sensed he was not alone as he entered his home, but as he was still intent on not being the one to break the silence, he made no comment. He hadn't even hung up his cloak when she burst out "Where have you been?" in a high, hysterical voice.

He turned to face her, and immediately knew it was a mistake. She was in a dressing gown, her chocolate curls tumbling loose around her shoulders, and her bare pink feet peeking out from the bottom. "Out." He said shortly, brushing past her before he could be caught staring.

"You didn't tell me you were leaving, or how long you would be away. I called and called for you and you just weren't there." She said tremulously.

"I wasn't aware I owed you constant explanations of my whereabouts_._" He growled. "I thought that sort of clinging pathetic worry was reserved for married couples."

"I was scared." She sniffed, and he knew that she was crying. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He was always making her cry. "I though you might have left me forever, that I was going to be alone forever."

"What on earth would lead you to that conclusion? I would not be so cruel as to leave you to the same fate that you left for me." He waited for an answer, but she seemed to have gone mute again save for the occasional sniffle. Sighing, he said "You are not a little girl anymore, Christine. I cannot make you stop being afraid of the dark with the snap of my fingers and a pretty song."

"I suppose you wouldn't understand." He was strangely relieved to hear the bitterness in her voice. It meant she hadn't completely given up yet. "You've never been scared of anything." He stayed where he was, facing resolutely away from her until he heard the patter of her feet running and the slam of her bedroom door.

He took off his mask and ran a hand over his tired face. Christine was wrong of course. He was scared of so many things, and most of them revolved around her. Even now, he wasn't sure if he was meant to follow her or give her space, and somehow it seemed either choice was destined to make her hate him more. Just as he had decided to give it up for the night and retreat to his own room, her bedroom door opened and he heard the sound of her approach. He replaced the mask quickly, slight panic flaring in his chest at the thought of being seen.

"The act of storming out rather loses its effect when you return so soon." He said dryly. "You must try for some conviction in your anger, my dear."

"I went looking for you before because I was having nightmares. And I still don't want to be in that dark room alone." She grudgingly admitted, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at her feet. "The only night I didn't have bad dreams was when you sang for me. I was wondering, if you wouldn't mind-"

"Ah yes, you want my voice yet you refuse to give me yours."

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"I will gladly sing for you tonight, Christine, and any night you wish, so long as you sing for me in the morning."

"I don't know if I can." She said in a small voice.

"Don't be ridiculous. You, me, and all of Paris know that you can sing. You are merely fickle with bestowing your talents." She chewed her lip, seeming at war between fear of the memories she saw at night, and whatever she saw when she sang. Finally she said

"All right Erik. You'll get your song tomorrow. But don't be so sure that you will enjoy it." Once again she left for her bedroom, but this time he followed her in.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Christine woke early, feeling refreshed. She knew where she was this time, but took a deep breath and was determined to give herself a moment or two before she let the crushing loneliness and fear rush in. A soft groan alerted her to Erik's presence. It seemed he had fallen asleep in the chair next to her bed after singing her to sleep. She couldn't remember ever seeing him asleep, and it struck her how he still managed to look graceful with his long limbs spread wide and his head angled back. But he was clearly not having peaceful dreams. Moans and half mumbled curses escaped his lips, only some of them in French, and his head rolled slowly back and forth, as though he was refusing some unseen force.

Slowly, Christine slipped out of bed and stood before him. He had banished her nightmares, and she owed him the same kindness. But she didn't know which one of his many personalities would surface when he awoke, and she wasn't anxious to find out. Christine called his name timidly at first, then louder as he showed no sign of waking. Finally she placed a tentative hand on his shoulder and shook it twice.

He was on his feet in a flash, yelling "no!" and hitting her hand away savagely in one breath. He advanced towards her, chest heaving and fire in his eyes. Christine retreated until her back hit the wall, but that wasn't far enough as he grasped her shoulders and pinned her there. He was so terribly tall, and Christine had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. Behind the mask, they were wide with fear, and she suddenly had an overwhelming urge to comfort the man that had her crushed against a wall.

"Erik, it's all right. It was just a dream." She said, placing a shaking hand on his chest. "I'm here." Everything about him softened at her voice, his shoulders sagging and his hands sliding down her arms. He stepped back from her and said

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-I didn't know who you were." His voice was rough, uncertain for once.

"Who did you think I was?" She asked, more curious than angry. He shook his head.

"No one good. I never dream about anything good."

"Is it like this every night?" He shrugged, already regaining his control.

"Every night that I remember. Ever since my mother sang me lullabies when I was little." He chuckled humorlessly. Christine closed her eyes. She had tried to block it out, the pity and compassion, and yes occasional affection she felt for this man, too consumed with her own pain over Raoul, and guilt over fleeing to the last place he would have wanted her. She was endlessly seeking Erik's company, terrified of being alone after being abandoned once again. She craved the safety she felt around Erik, but every time they had a pleasant conversation or some quirk of his was on the verge of making her smile, Raoul's face swam before her and she felt like the most evil of women. So she had tried to keep any of the warm feelings that may have still lingered for Erik away, but at the casual comment about his mother it was all hitting her again, and she wanted desperately for things to be better, for both of them.

"Hearing a song helps, at least for me." She said timidly, not knowing where to begin. He gave her a distant, sad look, and she felt incredibly foolish for suggesting something so trivial to take away his lifetime of pain. "At any rate, I promised you a song, would you like it now?" Though the sadness lingered in his eyes, his mouth turned up in a small but genuine smile.

"Yes Christine, I would like that very much."

"Very well." She said, making an effort to return his smile. "You can pick the song while I get dressed. Anything you like." He nodded and left, and as Christine picked out a simple blue dress from her wardrobe she felt almost nervous, as though she were preparing to go on stage again. She hadn't sang in almost three years, having no desire to revisit the intense emotion music always stirred within her. She wasn't sure how well her voice had held up, but knew it wouldn't be on par with Erik's memories of her at the height of her talent. She took extra time straightening her skirts and pinning her hair, but eventually she could stall no longer and walked out to the music room to face him.

He was already seated at his organ, a sheet of simple scales and exercises to warm up with covering the piece he had selected. She felt her nerves building in her stomach as she took her customary position, automatically correcting her posture and breathing. But as Erik played the first note of the scale she was to sing, and she opened her mouth to imitate it, she suddenly knew she was going to be sick. She clapped a hand over her mouth and rushed away, barely making it to her bathroom in time. To her increasing mortification, Erik had followed her in. She felt her face burn red as she shakily got to her feet and washed her mouth out at the sink.

"You should have told me you were ill Christine. You should be in bed, not attempting to sing." She shook her head.

"No, I am fine." She said. "This has been happening to me recently, usually after I have a particularly upsetting dream, or I suppose then it was because I was feeling nervous." She giggled, suddenly feeling ridiculous at getting such stage fright in front of one man who had heard her sing countless times, when she had always managed to stay calm in front of an audience of hundreds. "But really, I always feel completely normal afterwards."

"Why haven't you told me Christine? This is clearly a sign that you are not in good health. I should be changing your diet, or giving you medicine." She shrugged, avoiding his eyes.

"It is probably just emotional distress. I mean really, does very occasional vomiting with no other symptoms sound like any disease you've heard of?" Suddenly it hit her, an idea so terrible and wonderful and impossible and probable that she wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time. Instead she just froze, her mouth an "o" of surprise as a hand slowly drifted down to rest on her abdomen.

"Christine? Christine what is it? Is something wrong?"

"No." She said faintly. "I-I think I may be expecting." If she had been looking at Erik, she would have seen his mouth drop open in a very uncharacteristic expression, but as it was she was staring into space, too many emotions fumbling within her to sort through yet. Then he was gone, the door to his room slamming shut before she had time to say anything else. But it didn't matter. Suddenly, she needed to sing. The tune she picked was a simple, happy one that she had memorized out of a silly little Italian opera years ago, but as she poured her whole being into it and her voice filled the small house by the lake, she felt the beginnings of life stir within her cold and cracked heart. Her Raoul had not truly left her. She was certain that even as she sang, a little piece of him was inside of her, growing stronger.

**So what do yall think? Too soon, too cliché, too weird? Let me know in a review (oh and no, the child does not belong to Erik, and will not be named after Christine's father…just saying)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Erik never would have thought it possible to be jealous of a dead man, but he found himself proved wrong. Christine was…_infested _with the Victomte's seed, with one more thing Erik couldn't give her; a healthy, beautiful child. But it was worse than that, so much worse. Every day that Christine showed signs of her pregnancy would be a day that Erik remembered that the Vicomte had been allowed to love Christine, to put his hands on her in a way Erik never would. Erik had been granted one kiss, from Christine, from anyone, ever, and it had been a cruel manipulative thing at the price of her freedom.

But Christine was a blushing virgin no longer. Soon she would be a mother, and she would not want Erik around for that. But no, she would have to stay, she would not want to risk her child's safety by fleeing to the streets, and the refurbished and recast opera above would never take her back in such a condition. But she would hate him for being who he was, instead of the husband and father her family deserved. And eventually she would decide that she would rather be a widowed DeChagny than one of the freaks under the opera, and there would be no kiss goodbye this time. He didn't leave his room for the rest of the day, afraid that if he encountered Christine her stomach would suddenly be huge and swollen, or that she wouldn't be there at all. He heard her whimpered cries that night as fresh nightmares besieged her, but he couldn't bring himself to end her misery.

By the next day Christine was lonely once more, and surprisingly, mad. Erik couldn't stop a small smile from forming as she banged on his door, demanding that he talk to her. He was glad her customary spark of life had returned, until he realized the probable cause and he opened the door with a glower instead.

"What?" He snapped. "What could possibly be so important that you insist on interrupting my solitude with this racket?"

"You know I don't like being in this house all by myself." She said, crossing her arms over her chest. "And anyway, I'm bored."

"You know Christine." He said, letting his voice fall deadly calm. "I have been 'in this house all by myself' for a number of years, though of course it has felt more like centuries, and I must say of all the emotions I have experienced, boredom wasn't one of them." She opened her mouth to reply, but at the look in his eyes must have thought better of it because she closed it again. "Overpowering loneliness, now that I am familiar with. Terrible despair, frustration, rage, _betrayal, _yes, all of these I've known quite well. But truly, I have never had the frivolous contentment of boredom while among these catacombs. Perhaps you wouldn't feel so if you had to worry about your source of food, or heat, or that at any moment some idiot from above might come to make attempts on your life or most prized possessions, or perhaps if you thought I was liable to walk away from this place at any moment, leaving you with nothing but false promises of my return, perhaps then you would not feel so bored." She made no response, so he prompted her, saying "Well Christine? What say you? How should I entertain you next? You know I am your pathetic servant, that I live only to indulge in your childish wishes, no matter that it has been killing me slowly to do so."

"You think it has not been killing me too?" She whispered. "You think that every day that I was away from here I didn't think of you? Didn't miss you and mourn for you and feel indescribable guilt? Do you think it has been easy, to have my heart belong to one man and my soul to another, then to lose both of them?"

"Then why didn't you come back?" He was done trying to mask the pain in his voice, done with their endless dance of avoiding difficult subjects. "You promised me a final visit and a wedding invitation. I waited Christine. I waited three years for you." She buried her face in her hands.

"I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't leave you again, I refused to do that to either of us. I knew coming back here would break Raoul's heart, that I had to betray one of you, and as it seemed I had already broken everything between you and me, I thought I should at least keep my promises to him."

"So you chose to leave me waiting in this torment instead of letting me die in peace, because you didn't want to risk ruffling your fiancées feathers. Thank you, Christine, for that clear explanation of my worth in your eyes." His hand was turning white where it gripped the doorknob, trying to keep himself in place so he couldn't harm her.

"It wasn't that simple!" Now she was yelling too. "I almost came so many times, but I was afraid once I was here I wouldn't be able to leave. I was afraid of what it would do to me to watch you die, but I was more afraid that you wouldn't, and that I wouldn't be able to hurt you again, that I would stay forever to keep the pain out of your eyes." He closed his eyes, unsure if he should trust her words or if she was once again just telling him what he wanted to hear.

"Then why come now, Christine?" He suddenly felt old and exhausted. "What is it, exactly, that you want from me?" He remembered her posing that same question to him so long ago, remembered his pathetic request for a kiss, and grudgingly acknowledged that he would be eternally grateful to this woman for fulfilling it. But of course with Christine, nothing could be so simple.

"I don't know what I want, that's why I am so frightened." She admitted with a sigh. "I don't know what I'm supposed to want now that Raoul is gone, but I know it isn't living with his horrible family." She paused, seeming to be in deep thought, and Erik waited on tenterhooks. She looked so sad and frail as she contemplated their fate, and his anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He wanted nothing more than to see her face light up as it used to when he sang to her or showered her with praise. "I want you to take care of me." She finally said, and it struck him how strange it was that for once their wishes coincided. "I know that is a lot to ask. I understand that your feelings for me are not what they once were, and I know that is my fault." He almost snorted at the ridiculous notion that he could ever stop loving Christine, any more than he could stop breathing, but instead he let her continue. "But if you still care for me at all, I want you to help me figure out how to stand on my own. My whole life, I've had someone there telling me what to do, how to feel, but my child deserves a mother who isn't afraid of her own heart, a mother who isn't afraid to live." He cocked his head, confused.

"You want me to tell you how to live?" He wondered if she understood just how ironic it was to make such a request of an insane masked man who had spent the latter part of his life sealed away from human contact under an opera house, and whose greatest accomplishments included inventive styles of torture and death, and an opera fuelled by lust and rage. But she merely shrugged.

"There was a time when you made me feel as though I could do anything, like I could fly if you only taught me how. I think if anyone can teach me strength, it is you." He couldn't help but think how wrong she was, that a strong man would have taught his heart to stop beating for her by now. A strong man would not watch over and care for a woman he loved through her pregnancy with another man's child, would not cave immediately to her demands before he even understood what they meant. But when it came to Christine, Erik was the weakest person he knew.

"All right Christine, I will try."


	7. Chapter 7

**Just wanted to say a big thank you to anyone taking the time to read, and especially to the lovely people who have made my day by leaving reviews 3**

**Chapter 7**

They started with music. It was where they both felt most comfortable, the place they could talk to each other with the most ease. And besides, it was the only thing Christine had ever really been good at. Her body fell comfortably back into the rhythms that proper singing demanded of it, and for a few hours every day, she felt whole. But the spaces in between singing lessons still terrified her. Between her missed cycles and continued morning sickness, Christine was now quite sure she was pregnant, and she had taken to lying in bed tracing circles on her abdomen, trying to determine if it had grown any bigger. She tried to imagine a faceless baby in her arms, tried to think of what on earth she could possibly give it, tried to find some well of strength and motherhood deep within her. But sometimes in her darker moments she wondered if God had forgotten to give her some of the vital pieces that adult women needed in their hearts. It was times like these that she would call Erik in, and he would sing to her or talk softly of silly things until she drifted into sleep.

But even those moments of peace managed to unsettle her. She didn't miss the glances Erik snuck towards her face, and sometimes other places, when he thought she wasn't paying attention. She understood that Erik's intense love for her was most likely gone, that she deserved nothing but hatred after the way she had treated him, but the naked desire from years back was still present in his gaze. She knew she had nothing to fear from Erik, that he would only ever look, but it made her miss Raoul, and ignited a desperate craving within her to be held and kissed and reassured.

So one night as she rubbed her stomach and listed all the motherly things she didn't know how to do and silently panicked, she got up and donned a dressing gown, deciding to leave her bedroom for once instead of calling Erik into it. She was determined to solve one of her problems tonight. She found him in his library, hunched over a thick book with a candle flickering next to it, illuminating the angles of his shoulders and his mask. She tried to creep in on silent feet, intent on reading over his shoulder and knowing what held his attention so, but she saw his back straighten the moment she crossed the threshold. His hearing was far too good unless he was caught up in music.

"Shouldn't you be in bed my dear?" He asked mildly, marking his place in the book and setting it aside. "I'll come in and read you fairy tales, if you like." Christine couldn't tell if he was mocking her or making a serious offer, and the thought made her cheeks burn with shame.

"Actually I was wondering" She paused, searching for a respectable way to make her request, then abandoning dignity all together "if you could teach me how to cook." He turned around, and she could tell there was an eyebrow raised behind the mask.

"Now? This is hardly an hour for proper young ladies to receive cooking lessons." Her first instinct was to blush again and return to her bed, but she chastised herself. Hadn't she just told Erik a few days ago that she was tired of being weak? So instead she stood her ground and said

"Were either of us really going to sleep anytime soon?" A corner of his mouth turned up at the question and he stood, motioning her toward the kitchen.

After lighting enough candles that they could see what they were doing, Erik handed her the matches and said, "First things first, light the stove." She approached the unfamiliar metal contraption warily, poking lit matches into the logs until there was a suitable blaze going. Feeling rather pleased with herself, she turned back to regard Erik and saw that the counters were full of fresh vegetables, and a large metal pot rested at her feet, waiting to be suspended above the flames. Christine just shook her head, marveling at how silently he could move.

"Well then, what are we making?" She asked.

"Minestrone soup." He said, rolling the "r" in the word with confidence. His accent had always been flawless when they sang Italian operas, and it made her wonder.

"Have you been to Italy Erik?"

"I have." He said shortly.

"Did you learn to make this there?"

"I did."

"Who taught you?" She asked, curious as ever about his life before the opera.

"The same man who taught me architecture." She opened her mouth for another question, but he held up a hand to stop her. "Please Christine, if we don't begin now we truly shall be up all night." So Christine watched in intent silence as he showed her how to prepare each ingredient and the proper order to add them to the boiling broth. Unsurprisingly, his hands were as deft and graceful with a kitchen knife as they were with the bow of a violin or his terrible lasso. Then he asked her to cut up a carrot, and she blushed fiercely as she reduced it to uneven slices in a much slower and clumsier fashion than he had.

"I suppose you think I'm pathetic." She said softly. "A woman who can't cook."

"Of course not." He said dismissively. "It is hardly a skill that determines one's worth. Though I do find it a bit odd that none of the adults in your life took it upon themselves to teach you." Christine shrugged, dropping the carrot pieces into the bubbling pot.

"Well you know I didn't have a mother. And papa was no master chef himself, but he always spoiled me and did all the work when I was little. And then at the opera I just ate whatever they served in the dormitories, and of course Raoul had-I mean we had a cook." Three years, and she still hadn't felt any ownership over the big house or any of its servants.

"How old were you when your mother died?" The question was just like Erik, bluntly acknowledging death instead of tip toeing around it with a phrase like "passed on." Christine rather liked it, especially after all the uncomfortable stammers of people asking about her father after he died.

"She died giving birth to me." She said, suddenly having a vivid memory of her papa holding a crying Christine in his arms and patiently explaining that she must never feel upset or guilty about her mama being gone, that God had a plan for all of them and her mama was so happy, watching her family love each other from heaven.

"She what?" Erik said sharply.

"She died during childbirth. It is not exactly rare."

"Is that a common problem in your family?" He asked, sounding almost panicked.

"Not that I know of." Christine said. "Papa said she was always rather fragile and sickly, but very beautiful." She smiled as she thought of her papa playing a sweet, slow song, and telling her he had thought of her mother's eyes the whole time he was writing it. But when she looked around at Erik his mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes were alight with concern.

"I hadn't even thought of it." He said quietly.

"You hadn't thought…oh really Erik, you mustn't think that the same fate will befall me. I'm sure the circumstances of my childbirth will be completely different from my mother's."

"I will see that they are." He said darkly. She recognized that tone. It always preceded some rather extreme actions on his part.

"Really Erik, I will be fine." Strangely the prospect of dying in childbirth hardly concerned her. It was life that terrified her.

"Just stir the soup." He snapped. No matter how many subjects she tried, she could coax nothing but cooking instructions from him for the rest of the night. Her last waking thought was that Erik's silences never boded well.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry this chapter is a bit late. I don't really have an excuse, except that I was feeling uninspired. But bootlegs of a lovely man named Ramin Karimloo have temporarily cured me of that **

**Chapter 8**

Erik didn't sleep that night. After putting Christine to bed, his mind was whirling with images of her growing cold and lifeless while a fat, spoiled baby that somehow already resembled the Vicomte wailed in the background. He had been perusing the sections about pregnancy in his medical volumes lately, but now he flipped feverishly through all his books on the subject, and in the wee hours of the morning he slipped out of the opera to acquire more.

Soon he was a whirlwind of possible pregnancy complications and obscure remedies. He was constantly making changes to Christine's diet, asking her how she felt and telling her to lie down. At first she followed all his requests without question, but she soon became restless, and in her own timid way, resistant. The trouble was Christine seemed to want to do anything but lie down. She wanted more cooking lessons, then she wanted to practice her new skill. She wanted to clean his whole house and read all of the books in his library that she could understand. When he told her to rest she would return moments later with an idea or a question. More than ever, she was a constant stream of questions.

"Does my stomach look bigger to you?" He glanced over to see her reclining on the sofa as he had instructed, except that she was leaning on one hip with a hand in the small of her back, giving her body an intense scrutiny. He stammered something unintelligible, cleared his throat and said

"Yes, I believe so."

Then another night, as she was sipping an herbal tea he had prescribed and making faces at the taste, she asked "Do you know how to knit, Erik?"

"What? No." He said without looking up from a sheet of music.

"Yes, I suppose it wouldn't do for the fearsome opera ghost to spend his nights knitting a scarf." He looked up at her sharply. She never brought up his past persona or misdeeds, but now she was covering her mouth to hide a smile at the subject.

"Oh, I know it was silly of me to ask, but you mustn't look so serious. Its just that I've always wanted to learn and you seem to know everything, but then I really can't imagine you sitting by the fire with a big ball of yarn." Suddenly Erik's mind was filled with an image of himself in his formal eveningwear and menacing black mask, laboring over a fluffy sweater like someone's grandmother. Despite himself, he felt the corners of his mouth twitch and said gravely

"Sadly Christine, there are some secrets of this dark world that even I have not unlocked, and knitting is one of them." Christine nodded solemnly back, and muttered something about needing something from another room. The moment the door closed he heard the distinct sound of her bursting into giggles. As he turned back to his task, Erik thought placidly that he had killed the last person who had laughed at him.

A few days later he reluctantly stopped their music lesson short, fearing Christine's over exertion if she sang for too long. She sighed rather loudly and took to pacing around the room, but he ignored her and began tinkering with the end of a piece that had been giving him trouble. "Erik, how do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Compose." She said, gesturing vaguely. "How do you envision a piece of music that is absolutely original, and always so beautiful, and then put it all down on paper? Ever since my father did the same and I tried to imitate him, I have never understood how it was possible." She leaned towards him as she spoke, her soft pink lips parted slightly in anticipation of his answer, and he found that words failed him for a moment. But he quickly brought his mind to order and said

"Do you know the feeling when you are singing, and you know that you can hit a certain note better, but you have to reach around, adjust your tone, until it feels and sounds just right?" She nodded fervently. "That is how my music feels sometimes. At this moment, in fact, I have the strongest feeling that the right couple of notes will form the perfect conclusion to this piece, but I have to reach for them, try other things that I know are wrong as the right ones evade me. I will happen upon them eventually, because I give myself no other option. I demand perfection." She smiled at this, and he guessed it was because she was all too familiar with his demands of perfection. "Ah, but other times Christine, the music rushes through me, and then it is the same feeling as when all the technique is in place but one is singing purely from emotion, and their voice swells to the perfect pitch and warmth and expression with seemingly no effort. That feeling when one sings something and it is just _right, _as though there is no other way it could ever be, that is what happens when I compose something truly grand. I am powerless to stop it, and sometimes I will spend weeks at my organ, letting the music take me where it will." Her eyes were wide and she was breathing faster when he finished, and he saw that by merely talking about music he had put her under the spell of his voice. He stared at her a long moment, wondering how much she was still his to command, how far he could push her after three years away from his influence. But then his eyes traveled down to the gentle swell of her stomach that had definitely not been there three years before, and he shook his head. Even if this happier, inquisitive Christine seemed more like the one he had first taught to sing, everything was different now. And there was one question later that night that he could not answer so favorably.

"Erik, would you like to go for a little walk outside?"

"I hardly think such exertion in the cold night air is wise for someone in your condition. Besides, you might be recognized by someone who wishes you harm."

"Oh nonsense." She said lightly. "I'm not going to be out long enough to harm the baby, and we shall keep away from parts of town where anyone would recognize me, though honestly I'm beginning to think the fire was nothing more than an accident."

"It was no accident." He snapped. He had witnessed too many professional arsons not to recognize one when he saw it. "And this is not up for discussion. I am not going out tonight, and neither are you." But instead of nodding meekly as he expected, Christine put her hands on her hips and said

"I am not your prisoner here Erik. I cam here by choice, and am free to leave whenever I please."

"Yes you did come here by choice Christine, desperate for me to take care of you. And if you will not make rational decisions about your safety and well being, then I must."

"I am _not _being irrational." She said petulantly. He wouldn't have been surprised if she stamped her foot. "I'm going for a walk tonight whether you like it or not!"

"You are not." He thundered.

"I am!" she was practically in tears, but still managed to settle a cloak around her shoulders. "I am a grown woman, and you cannot tell me what to do any longer."

"Alright Christine." He growled. "Walk the streets of Paris at night, with child, while the entire city already thinks you dead. But don't expect me to fix everything when you are met with some dismal accident. If you will not respect my wishes, then you are on your own, _my dear_."

"Fine." She sniffed, hurrying out the door before he could say anything else. Erik settled into an armchair, intent on keeping his word, and staying right where he was as Christine fled into the dark, encountering any number of unsavory people who would see her as an easy target for a cut purse, or something worse, from a mile away. But no, he would stay here and teach her a lesson, teach her how it felt when there was no one there to answer her screams, to ward off her attackers, to defend her from greasy stage hands and the like who wanted to…damn it. He shook his head, admitting defeat, and donned his own cloak. It was laughably, unsettlingly easy to find the teary-eyed girl in the white dress and fall into step behind her, unseen and unheard.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Christine knew she was being foolish, could already feel a pit of fear working its way into her stomach, both at her surroundings and at Erik's reaction when she returned. But she was so tired of Erik treating her like a china doll, or an experiment in healthy pregnancies, and she had begun to feel that if she didn't breath in some fresh air soon she would burst.

Not that the air she was breathing was particularly fresh. As a Vicomtess she had kept to a carriage or wide main streets during day trips to the city, but the streets behind the opera at night were alive with sights and sounds and smells, not all of them especially savory or appropriate for a woman alone. Women laughed and men leered at her as she passed, hurriedly wiping away the evidence that she had been crying. She had the constant feeling that she was being watched, even when she turned down an alley that looked relatively deserted. She refused to look behind her or increase her pace, refused to acknowledge the panic building within her. But when a rail thin woman who looked only a few years older than her stepped out of the shadows, Christine clapped a hand over her mouth, and it was all she could do not to scream. The stranger looked disheveled and grimy, but her eyes held more tiredness and desperation than menace. Trying to pull herself together, Christine gave the woman a distant nod and made to move past her. The woman nodded wearily back, and Christine was just chiding herself for startling so easily when the stranger spoke.

"Hang on a mo,' you look familiar." Christine felt her spine stiffen but continued to walk without comment. "Hey." The woman snapped, grasping Christine's arm in a tight grip. Christine compulsively covered her abdomen with her other hand, attempting to shield the only part of her she cared about. "Yeah, I member you. Never forget a face. You's supposed to be dead, burned up in that big fire. It was all over the paper, asking if anybody had seen ya, seeing as the family wanted sumthin to bury. But here you is, and pregnant too!" She exclaimed, eyeing Christine's choice of hand placement.

"You-you must be mistaken." Christine stammered. "Please, my husband is expecting me home. He'll be very angry…" But the woman was shaking her head and tightening her hold on Christine.

"Don't you lie to me missy. Your husband's dead, but I bet some rich folk would pay a pretty penny to know you isn't." Christine sucked in a breath of sharp night air, preparing to let out her loudest operatic scream, but suddenly her world went black. A hand over her mouth stifled the cry in her throat, and a distinctly male form was pressed against her from behind. She began to struggle, though she could immediately feel that her strength would do nothing against him. She felt warm breath on her ear, and then a murmur of

"Christine, it is only me." She sagged against Erik's chest, weak with relief as he pulled her out of the alley, still ensconced in his black cloak. Then he pulled it off and stepped away from her, and for a moment she wished he would hold her close again. She shook the thought away and looked up at him, attempting to gauge his level of anger. His eyes were shooting fire, but for once she didn't think it was all directed at her. "Stay here, and try not to get into any more trouble." He said, his voice devoid of emotion, which was always a bad sign. "I'm going to take care of that urchin."

"Take care of…Erik wait!" He didn't halt his purposeful stride, so she rushed to put herself in his path, feeling ridiculous as she spread out her arms so that he couldn't pass her in the narrow street.

"Christine, if you persist in this foolishness that woman will tell the whole city that you are alive and with child, and the Chagnys will be coming out of the woodwork to claim you and their heir. Is that what you want?"

"No." she said. He looked at her doubtfully. "It isn't!" She insisted. "But I also don't want you to harm that woman just because of my foolishness in walking the streets."

"That woman was willing to assault you and sell your secrets to the highest bidder. Is her life more important than yours?"

"No, but it isn't less important either." Christine said quietly. "Please Erik, I know you don't want to kill her."

"Of course I don't want to!" He snapped. "But you got yourself into this situation, and she put her hands on you and threatened your safety, so now there is no other option."

"Please." Christine whispered. "No one would even believe her, but if she dies because of me it will weigh on my conscience forever." He glowered down at her, but she stood firm, attempting to look stern even as her knees were shaking. She looked imploringly into his eyes, willing him to make the moral decision. Finally, he shook his head in exasperation.

"You are right about one thing." He said. "No one will believe her because she will not talk." Christine paled, knowing she couldn't really physically stop him if it came to that. "Calm yourself Christine, I won't kill her, I promise. Though I'm sure it will prove to be a foolish mistake. I am simply going to frighten her so that she tells no one about what she saw." He held her gaze as he said this, and though she knew him to be an adept liar, she was almost certain she saw truth there.

"Alright." She said hesitantly, stepping aside and letting him sweep down the street. He turned back at the end, saying

"If you need me, just scream as you were about to before. I will be back momentarily." She nodded uncertainly, hoping she was right to trust him.

If someone had told her last year that she would be hiding from the Chagnys in a bad neighborhood at night and waiting for the phantom to return to her, she would have called them crazy, and yet here she was. She supposed life had a funny way of not going the way it was supposed to, especially hers. Then again, a small voice in the back of her head wondered if this wasn't exactly where a woman like her was meant to be. Raoul had been the dearest, sweetest of husbands, but if she was honest with herself they hadn't been the perfect match. During the day she had purchased frivolous dresses and laughed at his jokes and danced at balls and tried so hard to be the wife he deserved, but at night she often slipped out of bed to sit on their balcony and stare at the stars. She would dream of Sweden and her papa's fairy tales and the ocean and music, and remember that special rush she felt whenever she took the stage, one of the only moments of pure joy she had ever known. Her mind would often wander to Erik, and she would scold herself for wondering if he was thinking of her. She would look out into the night in her appropriately modest dressing gown that belonged in her perfect aristocratic household with her wonderful, comforting, charming husband asleep behind her, and crave something she didn't understand.

Christine shook her head. It wasn't as though losing Raoul had brought her any closer to learning what she wanted. All she knew was that she was tired of being afraid to figure it out.

"What could you possibly have to be shaking your head about?" Christine jumped violently, having been completely unaware of Erik's return. She looked up at him, questions in her eyes. "She's alive." He said dismissively. "A fact I am sure we will both shortly come to regret." She believed him. She knew his authentic derision when she heard it.

"Thank you." She said softly. She knew it hadn't been easy for him to heed her request. He looked a bit surprised at the thanks, but turned and began walking in the direction of the opera without a word. She followed him home, relieved to feel safe once again.

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing, and please don't stop. They make me a happy phan! Also random thought, does anyone else ever hear OG for "Original Gangster" in hip hop songs, and think the artist is rapping about the Opera Ghost for a second, or is that just me?**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"I hope you are pleased with yourself Christine."

"I am not." She said composedly. It frustrated him to see her so calm. She had flung herself back into his life, into his care, then proceeded to ignore his warnings and put herself at every sort of risk. He hadn't missed the beggar woman's remark about an advertisement in the newspaper, and knew that the Vicomte's family wasn't likely to go to such efforts for Christine's body, especially when according to her they hardly cared for her in the first place. Someone guessed that she was alive, and wanted her otherwise, and it frightened him not to understand who or why. Nothing made Erik angrier than those rare moments when he still felt fear. There was a long moment in which Erik stared unseeingly at Christine's face, attempting to master his anger at all of Christine's possible assailants, and yes, even at her. She chewed her lip nervously, then said "But Erik, I am very grateful to you. I don't know what I would have-"

"Don't." Slipped out between his clenched teeth. "Do not thank me for being too weak to silence that woman as I should have."

"It was not weakness." She said softly. "It shows strength to do the right thing, even if it makes your life more difficult. Underneath everything, you are a good man Erik." He wanted to smack her and kiss her all at the same time, and as he took a step towards her he wasn't sure which was his intention. No one had ever called him good before, and the way she looked at him with so much pure hope almost made him believe it. But he mentally shook himself. He was not a good man, had barely flinched at the thought of adding one more black spot to his soul with the murder of the beggar. The fact that it would have been his first time to deliberately kill a woman was the only thing that gave him momentary pause, and even that had not lasted long. He had only spared the woman because Christine had begged him to, and most likely Christine had only commended his behavior to lessen his anger over her disobedience.

Then there was the beggar herself, who had sobbed and promised not to tell. But promises such as those were empty. He knew the look of someone who would do and risk anything for the right price, and it had shone strongly in her eyes.

He moved past Christine swiftly and settled himself at his organ, thinking if he never spoke to another deceitful woman again it would be too soon. All too quickly he was lost, something dark and angry twisting out from his heart and through his fingers, clanging dissonant chords throughout the house by the lake. In the back of his mind he imagined Christine slinking of to her room and covering her ears. Oh yes she was perfectly content to sit and listen to his lighter compositions, or even achingly sweet sad ones, but she fled at the first sign of rage or desire. She referred to him as a good man, but that was because she refused to see what her _angel _really was. He was an angry, wounded monster who-what was that? The soft rustle of skirts invaded his senses, and then those skirts were brushing intimately against his leg. His hands on the keys faltered, and he turned to see Christine seated next to him on the piano bench, her lips pressed tight together and her eyes bright with unshed tears.

"What are you doing?" He asked wearily. No one but him had ever sat on this bench, and certainly not at the same time. He wasn't a man who played duets.

"Listening." She said in a quiet voice. "This music frightens me, and I am so tired of being frightened. Besides, I am the only person who will ever hear it, and I should take full advantage of that privilege."

"And why must you sit here to listen?" She blushed crimson at the question, and he wondered what she could possibly have to be embarrassed about.

"Being close to someone always makes me feel better when I am upset." She said. "But if you like I will sit somewhere else." Being close to him made her feel better? How was that possible, when he was the very thing that was causing her distress? He supposed it was her fear of the dark and loneliness at work again. All he knew was that having her so close yet being unable to touch her or tell her he loved her was exquisite torture, and he would hold onto it for as long as he could.

"You may stay as you are." He said, attempting to sound disinterested. He began to play again, but with Christine's perfume swirling around him and her every little sigh and adjustment ringing in his ears, the anger wouldn't come so easily. It could have been minutes or hours that neither of them spoke, letting the music wash over them as it lost its edge and became an unbearably soft, longing cry. He thought he sensed her move infinitesimally closer to him, and jumped violently when he felt her thick curls cascade across his shoulder. Keeping up the same tempo in his fingers, he watched in wonder as Christine, with closed eyes and lips slightly parted, gently lowered her head onto his shoulder, and released a heavy sigh that could have meant anything. The movement of his right hand became even more legato, not wanting to jostle the precious gift that had been bestowed upon him. He wanted to stay suspended in that moment forever, but knew that she needed sleep in a proper bed. He reached a chord that felt like an end to something beautiful and sad, and suddenly the house was ringing with silence. Christine picked her head up, opened her eyes and gave him a small, uncertain smile.

"Thank you, that was lovely." Then seeing he was about to speak, she said "I know, I know, I should go lie down. Goodnight, Erik."

"Goodnight." He said faintly, thinking that no one ever thanked him, and this marvelous creature had done so twice that night.

As soon as she was gone, he began surveying all the exits and entrances to his strange house. His security had fallen into shameful disrepair since his days as the opera ghost, a fact made all too clear by Christine's ability to wander in and catch him unawares months ago, as well as her easy exit tonight. He immediately set to work rectifying the situation, and as morning dawned he was satisfied. If Christine attempted to leave without his permission she would simply find herself unable to do so. No harm would come to the sweet girl. But anyone entering his house, bent on his destruction, or worse, hers, they would pay. He went about preparing Christine's breakfast with a grim smile on his face.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Christine had been fully awake when she put her head on Erik's shoulder. She had just felt so much goodwill for the man who was constantly getting her out of sticky situations, and whose life she was always complicating. She knew he was too proud to let himself be comforted, but felt a little smug that she had managed to do so without him realizing. He was still as suffocatingly attentive as ever, but Christine thought that the least she could do was accept his care, and even found herself enjoying it sometimes.

One drafty night they were sitting by the fire, reading, and Christine realized how strangely domestic they looked. Not for the first time, she wondered what it would have been like if she had chosen Erik instead of Raoul. If she had stayed after that unearthly kiss. She felt a shiver go up her spine at the memory. Wordlessly, Erik stood, retrieved a blanket, and settled it around her shoulders before returning to his armchair. It was a sweet gesture, one Raoul had performed often, but it was so different coming from him. Raoul would have joined her under the blanket and squeezed and tickled her until she was giggling like a little girl, then he would have given her a chaste kiss and called her _ma cherie_. She felt tears prick her eyes at the memory. She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, wishing for Raoul's arms so badly it hurt.

There had been nothing loving in Erik's action, only the calm efficiency of a caretaker. He hadn't even looked at her. In fact he barely ever did any more, and when he did it wasn't with the heated and searing glares or the soft and tender gazes that had frightened her so much during her time at the Opera. His glances now were distant, worried, kind even, but there was no more passion there. She was a task, a possession to keep safe, and that was all.

_That's a good thing. _She chided herself. _His love made him do violent, terrifying things, things that made you cry and faint._ _The only reason staying here isn't torture is that he no longer loves you. He wants nothing from you, and you want nothing from him. _

"Christine, are you all right?" She looked up into his eyes, hastily drying hers. She saw concern, but no more.

"I'm fine." She lied, hiding her face behind a book.

"That is obviously not true." He said. "What is it?"

"I was just missing Raoul I suppose." She said, glad her face was hidden as she could feel it turning red. There was a long, uncomfortable silence in which Christine refused to look up at him.

"The boy treated you well then?"

"Oh, yes, of course." She stammered, the question catching her off guard.

"You were happy?"

"Yes." She had been, hadn't she? Except for those nights, and the days when she would pass the opera house, and suddenly feel a magnetic pull towards it, wondering…

"I am sorry you are so unhappy here." Christine furrowed her brow behind the book, thinking that bitterness did not suit his beautiful voice very well.

"Erik, I am not unhappy here." That was true, wasn't it? "Its just hard sometimes, to know that he's gone." Suddenly Erik was on his feet, and Christine curled in on herself, thinking he was angry at her for talking about Raoul. But he wasn't even looking at her, his head was angled towards the door, listening intently to something she couldn't hear.

"Christine, go to your room and lock the door. Stay there until I tell you otherwise."

"What? Why?"

"There's an intruder in the house." She felt her blood run cold. This was it, whoever had wanted her dead that night of the fire was back to finish the job.

"Erik." She said, approaching him hesitantly.

"Just go!" she nodded quickly, seeing all the muscles in his jaw clench.

"Be careful, allright?" He gave her a serious look that she couldn't decipher.

"You needn't worry Christine, he has already been caught in my trap. I simply need to…question him." That made Christine shudder slightly, and she made a quick exit to her bedroom. She certainly didn't need to be around for that.

Christine didn't know how long she sat anxiously on her bed, straining to hear anything besides the creaks and groans of the house. Was Erik torturing someone as she sat there? Would he kill them when he was done? Perhaps she should leave her room, try to stop him. She stood and walked to the door, but paused with her hand on the knob. Erik would be furious, and was it even her place to beg him to show the intruder mercy? What if the man was there to harm Erik, or her? What if it was the same person who was responsible for Raoul's death? She felt everything in her harden at that thought, and she went back to her bed, content to wait.

Suddenly she heard voices, muffled but getting closer. Erik was speaking rapidly and angrily in a language she didn't recognize. And the man who responded, oh, she had only heard that voice once before but she would never forget it, alongside her dear Raoul's, begging to be released from Erik's torture chamber. Christine felt terribly confused. That man, Daroga, Erik had called him, had hardly been the focus of her attentions that night, but it hadn't escaped her that he was an old acquaintance of Erik, perhaps one of the few people who knew what Erik was and didn't shun him. Why was he here now, and why did Erik sound so angry? The voices were now right outside her door, and she thought she caught her name amidst the jumble of foreign words. She got to her feet slowly, careful not to make a sound, and leaned her ear against the door. Suddenly, the Persian man switched to heavily accented French, saying "I don't believe you Erik. Now I am positive you are keeping Christine Daae here against her will." Christine covered her mouth with her hand, wondering how he knew where she was, and why he cared.

"Oh really Daroga, and why do you say that?" Erik replied acidly.

"Because I see her slippers under the door." There was stunned silence. Christine felt like a naughty little girl caught eavesdropping, and she could practically feel Erik's anger at her foolishness. She was frozen in place, wondering if she should continue trying to hide when it was obviously futile. But Erik trusted this man enough to let him out of the trap he was caught in and into the house, and at this point a meeting seemed inevitable. She attempted to summon what little dignity she had left, and pushed the door open slowly. She was met with Erik's haughty anger and the Daroga's look of surprise and concern.

"Good evening Monsieur." She said, feeling supremely foolish. "I, um, Erik is not keeping me here. I am staying with him of my own free will." She covered her round abdomen with her hand, an unconscious gesture she had started using to calm herself in stressful situations. The Persian looked from her hand to Erik with wide eyes.

"I see." He said slowly. "Then I suppose some congratulations are in order." Christine blanched. He thought it was _their _baby? Her and Erik doing…that. Oh goodness. She looked up at him, and was almost sure he had a sardonic eyebrow raised behind the mask.

"Oh no, it's not, I mean we're not-" Christine cut herself off, wanting to die on the spot. Finally Erik took pity on her and said

"I'm sure the Daroga meant to congratulate you on the expected child of your late husband." He sounded angry. Was the idea of having a child with her so repulsive?

"Oh of course." Now it was the Daroga's turn to look embarrassed. Feeling more out of place and humiliated than she had in years, Christine squeaked

"I'll prepare some refreshmants, shall I?" And scurried off to the kitchen. She sent a silent thanks to her papa that he had at least taught her how to make tea. She brewed it strong, thinking that they all had a long night ahead of them.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry I'm so late with this chapter, stuff's been crazy lately but I'll try to be better in the future! Also just to clarify, this is from Nadir's POV.**

**Chapter 12**

Nadir's stomach had dropped when he heard the news. He tried to convince himself that he didn't care, that the names on the faded French newspaper fluttering by on the streets of Rome meant nothing to him, but he couldn't. He recalled their pale, frightened faces, their desperate fingers clinging to each other in Erik's home that terrible night, and knew a deep sadness that their love had been cut short so violently. And of course, close on the heels of his sorrow came suspicion of the man who had always wanted the DeChagny's separated.

Nadir Khan did not believe in coincidences. He instinctively felt that the death of the Vicomte and the disappearance of the girl's body were too convenient for Erik not to have had a hand in them. And he didn't think that it was coincidence for him to find a discarded newspaper from so far away and so long ago that just happened to pertain to his life. He was supposed be Erik's conscience, but in Erik's darkest time Nadir had abandoned him, feeling overwhelmed by the task. This was clearly Allah's way of telling Nadir to make it right.

And so he had returned to Paris, and found an expecting, seemingly safe Christine who was making them tea of all things. The Daroga shook his head and gave Erik a disapproving look. "So, you have not seen Christine Daae in years, eh?"

"It's DeChagny now." The masked man said calmly.

"Not if you have any say in the matter."

"You really think I killed the boy?" Now he did not sound so calm. "After I gave them my permission, my _blessing_ to be married? After I gave up any chance of my earthly happiness so they could have theirs?"

"Perhaps you changed your mind." The Daroga said, choosing his words carefully. "You told me many times before I left that you regretted your choice."

"But that doesn't mean I could simply reverse it. I've known for a long time now that I'll never have Christine. Perhaps I've even accepted it, I don't know."

"But you have her now." Nadir pointed out.

"I don't Khan." He snapped. "You didn't see her after the boy died. She was devastated, like a ghost of herself. Even today she was crying over him. I could never do that to her, which is why I never _did _Daroga."

"But you lied. You said she wasn't here."

"Just because I don't want you poking your oversize nose in my business, asking Christine god knows what questions and upsetting her, does not mean I have done anything wrong." Nadir resisted making a reply to the comment about his nose, knowing it was a rather touchy subject for Erik, and said instead

"There's something you're not telling me Erik. How did the girl come to be here?"

"She walked, the night of the fire. She was still covered in ashes when she got here." Erik's eyes seemed to darken at the memory, but Nadir didn't know what to believe. Surely Erik had abducted her, swept her away in the night.

"Why would she-"

"Tea's done!" Christine announced, entering the room with a tray laden with a kettle and cups.

"Thank you." Nadir said, watching her intently. Erik murmured his thanks as well, and in that one phrase Nadir knew the man was as lost to her power as ever. But the girl was harder to figure out. She certainly seemed comfortable here, bustling about to fill their teacups. But why would she leave the lap of luxury to hide down here with a man who had abducted her and threatened her beloved? None of it made any sense. He needed to get her alone, but knew Erik would never allow it.

"Erik, you haven't properly introduced me to your friend." Christine said, making a brave attempt at conversation.

"He is not my friend." Erik said moodily, shooting the Persian a dirty look, which he pointedly ignored.

"Be nice." She said, looking at Erik disapprovingly. Nadir quickly took a drink from his cup to hide his smile. Erik heaved a dramatic sigh and said

"Christine, this is Nadir Khan, an old…acquaintance from Persia. Nadir, this is Christine DeChagny."

"Pleased to meet you, Madame DeChagny." He said, wincing inwardly at the sorry state of his French.

"Christine, please." She said, smiling sweetly. "So, Monseiur Khan, what brings you here?"

_You._ "I was passing through Paris and thought I'd drop in."

"_And you accuse me of lying."_ Erik hissed in Persian.

"_Would you prefer to have me tell her that I'm here to ensure that you didn't kill her husband and then abduct her." _Nadir muttered.

"_You really think I would do that to her after all these years?" _Suddenly Erik was on his feet in front of Nadir, but the Daroga never saw him move. "_And if I had, what would you possibly be able to do about it?"_ They both knew Erik could kill him in the space of a breath if he so desired.

"Erik, what's wrong?" Christine asked, breaking the tense silence.

" is being rude." Erik snapped, switching back to French. "It's time for him to leave." Nadir hesitated with his response, wondering if he should threaten police intervention, but wary of setting off Erik's violent side. Luckily, he was saved by Christine.

"It seems the two of you are having a disagreement that involves me. Perhaps if I knew what was going on, I could help."

"The news of your husbands death was distressing." Nadir began, feeling markedly uncomfortable. "I just want to ensure your wellbeing and safety, perhaps in private."

"Certainly." She said, giving Erik a confused look

"Fine." He growled. "I see I am not wanted in my own house. The Daroga may come and fetch me when the two of you are done whispering your secrets."

"Erik, hold on a moment." Christine said, and he paused immediately as she ran to his side. Nadir silently marveled at how the notoriously stubborn man bent to her every request. Erik had been less accommodating to the Sha of Persia. She said something softly to Erik and he nodded slowly, then turned to leave with a long, sad look in her direction. Once he was gone, Christine gave Nadir a troubled look and said

"I suppose you think I was lying before, about being here of my own free will?"

"Yes, I thought you might fear Erik's reaction if you said otherwise."

"I wasn't lying." She said. "Raoul's family was…I just couldn't stay after his death. I left the night of the fire."

"Without even telling them you were alive?" He asked, remembering the newspaper article. She flushed.

"I thought it would be easier, for everyone, if they were no longer burdened with me."

"And why did you come to Erik?" She sighed, looking troubled.

"I suppose I just wanted somewhere safe. Someone who would understand. I didn't really think about it, it just felt like the right thing to do. It felt like the only thing to do."

"Madame DeChagny-"

"Christine."

"Allright Christine. To put it delicately…you remember what he did to you, don't you?"

"Yes." She said softly, a haunted look in her eyes. "And I remember what I did to him. But we are past that now. I needed somewhere to go, and I hardly kept up acquaintances from the Opera. He is giving me a place to stay, and I am grateful. It is as simple as that, ."

"Call me Nadir." He said distractedly. "So you are happy here?"

"You are the second man to ask me that today Nadir. Yes, I suppose I am as happy as could be expected given the circumstances."

"I am glad." He said, bemused. "I worried about you and him, after everything that happened that night." Again, his mind was filled with Christine and Raoul's terrified faces as Erik raged and issued his awful request.

"I was worried about him too." She shuddered. "He was not in a good way when I first got here. But then again neither was I." He smiled slightly as she mistook the man he was talking about. He was still confused by their arrangement, still burning with curiosity about what would happen when the baby arrived, and he knew that it was going to be anything but simple. But the only thing he could think of to say to the strange and beautiful woman before him was

"It seems the two of you have been good for each other."

"I don't really think I'm good for anyone." She sighed. "There is one more thing you should know. We think that someone is trying to kill me." Nadir rubbed his eyes, suddenly endlessly tired. No, this was not going to be simple at all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Erik watched the Persian man leave his home, head bowed against the crisp night air. He waited what seemed like an endless moment, but no slim figure in a dress followed him out. _That doesn't mean anything._ He told himself. _She might be waiting till morning to make her travel arrangements. Perhaps she wants another drawn out, excruciating goodbye.___Unable to bear the suspense any longer, Erik stepped out of the shadows with a flourish of his cloak, and took vindictive pleasure in watching Nadir jump violently.

"By Allah, must you do that every time?"

"Do what?" Erik asked dryly, falling into step beside him. Even on the relatively deserted street, Erik still felt exposed and threatened under the gaslight lamps. Nadir made no comment as they continued on, a worried look on his face. "Well, what did she say then?" Erik snapped.

"She said many things." He said cryptically. "Erik, how could you be keeping her in the same city when there is a price out on her head? How could you let her go out at night? It doesn't seem like you at all."

"I didn't let her." He growled. "The foolish girl was out the door before I could stop her."

"_You _couldn't stop _her _from leaving?" Erik must have lost his touch if Nadir thought he could mock him without any consequences.

"Careful Daroga, I still haven't decided if you will survive the night." The Daroga blanched, and said cautiously,

"In all honesty, why are you still in Paris? Why haven't you taken her far away from all of this?"

"I don't know if she would go." Erik admitted through clenched teeth. "She came to me this time Daroga, do you understand? But I do not know why, or for how long. She would not want to move away with me as though we were _married _or some such nonsense. If I suggested it she would be gone in an instant."

"But you cannot stay here much longer." Nadir insisted. "Surely you must see that."

"We can." Erik said heatedly. "We can stay under the opera house and sing and not be bothered by the rest of the world for as long as we wish. I simply need to find the man who threatens Christine and wring his neck." Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. "Perhaps, Daroga, you might actually be of some help. That is why you came back to Paris, is it not? To help your poor old friend?" His tone was dripping with sarcasm and hostility, leaving the Persian no way out. Nadir sighed heavily.

"What would you have me do?"

"Ask questions." Said Erik. "You know where, and who. Perhaps they might actually give answers to a man with a face, a man they have not been warned about already because of this damn thing." He gestured at his mask, having a sudden, insane urge to rip it off.

"I will try." Nadir said warily.

"You will do more than try." Erik said silkily. "If you really want what's best for Christine, as you say, you will devote yourself to her safety."

"And what do you want for Christine?" Erik wanted to laugh and cry at the stupidity of the question. Wasn't it obvious what he wanted? Hadn't he written it into his opera and wept it at her feet? But knowing that he couldn't have what he wanted, that she forever belonged to someone else, the answer became clear. He wanted her to be safe. And maybe one day, even happy. She had made it obvious that could never happen under the opera, with him. But he still didn't know if he could let her go.

"What do you want with her?" Erik asked, avoiding Nadir's question. "Did you not come to my house to convince her to leave and live under the protection of someone who is not a deranged criminal?"

"Of course not." Nadir said. "I don't know where else the poor girl would go. And she seems happy enough where she is."

"She does?" The question, honest and desperate, slipped out before he could stop it. The Persian shrugged.

"As happy as a widow with threats of murder hanging over her can be." Erik's blood boiled at the thought of some demented man attempting to harm Christine. He flexed his hands, feeling unbelievably frustrated that he didn't know whose life to end.

"I really should not be leaving her alone, especially now that you are here to do the investigating." Erik muttered, turning back in the direction of the opera. "Do not disappoint me Daroga, or the next time you find yourself intruding into my business I may not be in such a forgiving mood." He slipped into the shadows without giving Nadir a chance to respond.

He found her pacing in front of the fire, looking worried as she often did these days. He sighed slightly, and she turned at the sound. She should not have to worry under his care. "You should be asleep Christine, it is very late."

"As if I could sleep with the two of you out there fighting about me." She said frowning. He wanted nothing more than to smooth the frown lines from her forehead, and he had to clasp his hands behind his back. "I don't understand it, why did you want to hide me so badly? I mean, I know my living here is not exactly the height of propriety, but- " He snorted.

"You think I care about propriety?"

"What then, you're ashamed of me?"

"Are you mad?" How could he be ashamed of her? _I am the problem Christine, it is always Erik._ "I simply do not appreciate the Daroga prying into my business. He is always criticizing me and intruding on my plans. Attempting to give me a conscience." He stopped talking, wondering why he was telling all of this to Christine. The less information she, or anyone had about him the better. He had learned that early on.

"But Erik, you have not done anything wrong. You're actions have been admirable. Extremely so." _Admirable._ There it was again, Christine trying to convince herself that he was a good person. But he wasn't. Christine was likely treating him as though he was simply to keep her sanity, living under his roof. He scoffed, attempting to seem unaffected.

"As though anyone would have done any differently."

"Many people would have done differently." She countered. "None of my so called friends from high society would have let me through their door the way I looked the night of the fire, and I'm fairly certain most of the people I knew from the Opera would have thought I had gone insane."

"If that is true, you must learn to surround yourself with better people my dear." How could the rest of the world scorn someone as good and pure as Christine? It must have been jealousy of her talent and beauty, and yes perhaps even her marriage to the boy. With him dead, Erik could admit to himself that the Vicomte was quite a catch for a penniless soprano.

"I think I have." Christine whispered, giving him the tiniest of shy smiles. And oh, with her looking at him like that, it was so, so tempting to believe her. But one woman's smile was not enough to undo the years of terrified screams that he had inflicted. It was not enough to change the sad excuse for a face that lurked behind his mask.

"Just go to bed." He growled, frustrated with her for lying to him. She sighed.

"Goodnight Erik." He made no answer, and her face fell as she walked away. It dawned on him that out of all the people who he despised for hurting Christine, he was the worst perpetrator among them.


	14. Chapter 14

**Once again, so sorry this took forever. Did yall know college actually has homework and stuff? Also I'd like to give a big thank you to PhantomFan01 for taking the time to review every chapter, any feedback is much appreciated :)**

**Chapter 14**

_Masks. Everywhere masks, whirling at her from every corner. Bright and lurid and menacing. There were no faces or eyes behind them, just a sinking blackness that made her sick. One of them was holding a baby, also wearing a mask, but somehow she instinctively knew it was hers. She made a lunge for it, but the figure holding it snatched it away, laughing. She tried to follow them, but the crowd around her closed in and grabbed onto her, holding her in place. She struggled but they only held tighter, pressing close, suffocating her._

Christine woke with a gasp. She had somehow managed to burrow under her pillow, and she emerged slowly, patting her hair into a more manageable shape with shaking hands. She rubbed her rounding stomach thoughtfully, recalling the strong sense of protectiveness and fear she had felt in her dream. She blamed Erik and that friend of his. They had spent the past few days abruptly stopping their conversations when she entered the room, or else whispering to each other in Persian with worried looks in her direction. She knew something important had happened or else they were planning something, but every time she asked they insisted they were discussing the weather or something equally trivial. Erik's lies were convincing, Nadir's less so.

But today would be different, she vowed. She got dressed, noting that her dresses were getting too small in multiple places, and left her room determinedly. Today she would not accept their diversions.

"Christine, there's something I need to tell you." _Well that was easy._ She thought ruefully, following Erik's voice into the library. She was surprised to find that Nadir was there as well, as Erik never seemed to want the two of them to talk.

"Good morning." She said, lowering herself into a chair with more difficulty than she would have before she was pregnant. They muttered distracted good mornings back. Nadir looked apprehensive, and she thought Erik was annoyed, though it was hard to tell with the mask and his general demeanor. "Well, what is it?" She asked, unable to stand her confusion any longer.

"It seems there is a man who knows of the man who wants you dead, and why." Erik said matter of factly.

"Oh." She said, taken aback. "So are you going to speak with him?"

"Yes." Erik said calmly, but Christine didn't miss Nadir's frown at the answer.

"You don't think he should?" She asked.

"Erik has decided he is going. I have no say in the matter." Nadir said, but his tone made it clear exactly how he felt.

"Going where?" She asked.

"To a masked ball." Erik answered. She noted the gleam in his eyes that meant he was darkly amused by something. "The man wanted to keep identities a secret, you see."

"A masked ball?" Now she was even more confused. "In an aristocrat's house?" She flashed on her dream, and suddenly had a terrible sense of foreboding.

"Yes, it seems they have become quite fashionable in society since the strange affair of the phantom of the opera." He didn't have to tell her they were fashionable. She remembered being dragged to many of them with Raoul. She remembered Raoul eyeing her nervously the whole time, waiting for her to have some sort of break down, both of them wondering if the other was thinking of _that _Masquerade, but neither of them willing to ask. She remembered her heart doing strange things every time she saw a tall man dressed in red.

"So you will be meeting him at the masque? How are the two of you to find each other?"

"Nadir has been given a description of the costume he will wear. The man only knows he will be approached by an interested party. He will likely be given a description of the Daroga, not myself."

"Of course they know that it is you that will come." The Persian said, exasperated. Christine knew the words were meant for her as well, because he was still speaking in broken French. "I have been asking the same questions that you have, clearly they know we are connected. Why else would they have chosen a masquerade for this meeting? They want you to go, it's a trap."

"We've already discussed this Daroga." He growled. "Of course it's a trap, but that doesn't mean there isn't valuable information to be learned. For once I will be indistinguishable from the rest of the crowd, I will observe the situation and glean from it what I can."

"Erik." She ventured slowly. "You mustn't endanger yourself for me. The police never really stopped looking for you, you know. Perhaps you could suggest a different location to meet at, or-"

"Do not speak of things you don't understand." He snapped. There was a time when that tone of voice would have subdued her instantly, but this was too important to give up on.

"I understand that it would be better to wait for a safer opportunity."

"A safer opportunity?" He mocked. "We are dealing with murderers, Christine. The same people who burned your house as you slept. There are no safe opportunities."

"Then perhaps you should just give up this pursuit. Really, they are unlikely to find me-"

"Unlikely isn't good enough. You came down here crying for your husband, seeking my protection, asking me to _take care of you_." She blushed furiously, suddenly wishing Nadir wasn't present for this conversation. "And that is what I intend to do, no matter what." _I'm not worth it._ Whispered a small voice inside of her. But she would have a child soon, surely she needed to consider more than just herself. But knowing that Erik would be in harms way again, because of her, made her feel sick. She was so confused. It was easier just to leave decisions up to Raoul or Erik. _Raoul. _ This was the chance to know who had snatched him from her, and why. She felt that perhaps she could finally move on, if only she had someone to blame. Oblivious to her internal struggle, Erik said "Besides, I am more than a match for a couple of street thugs." It was true, Christine couldn't imagine anyone besting Erik in wits or strength, but still…

"I wish you wouldn't go." She whispered, locking her eyes on his, though it always frightened her to do so. She could see that it was a lost cause before her plea was even finished. "But if you insist, if you really want to be anonymous, there are certain rules and etiquette you must know at a masque."

"Etiquette." Erik scoffed. "Please Christine, it isn't as though I am looking for someone to court. It does not signify what people at the party think of me."

"If you do not want everyone to know you are an outsider, it is important." She insisted. "Say the wrong thing, make a wrong step in a dance, and they will know immediately that you do not belong."

"I appreciate your concern, but I am hardly going to be dancing." Erik made the very idea sound preposterous and distasteful.

"There is no faster way to raise suspicion at a ball than refusing to dance." Christine said innocently. "If you are serious about blending in, of course you will need to dance." He gave her a skeptical look.

"If you are trying to dissuade me from going, it is not going to work. Teach me to dance." He said imperiously. She narrowed her eyes at him. In all honesty she had been trying to make him too uncomfortable to attend, but it was true he would draw less attention if he was aware of certain social graces. For his part, Nadir looked torn between disapproval and amusement, but the amusement seemed to be winning out.

"Very well, but we shall need music." Christine said, uncertain if she was really qualified to teach anyone to dance, least of all Erik.

"That should not pose a problem." He said dryly. But in fact it did. Erik soon discovered that he could not play an instrument and learn the steps of a simple waltz at the same time, and when he tried to show Nadir the bare bones of a melody the Persian turned out to be hopeless, fumbling around and doing a terrible job of maintaining a steady tempo. The mishandling of his precious keys soon proved too much for Erik, and he growled

"Just leave, Daroga. I shall sing something myself."

"Come, Erik. I shall stop playing, but I cannot miss the feared angel of death learning to dance." _Angel of Death? _Christine thought with a shudder. _I shall have to ask Erik about that when he is in a better mood._

"Out." Erik said firmly. Nadir recognized defeat and left the room, and suddenly Christine realized she and Erik were quite alone.

"Right." She said nervously. "Well you stand in front of me of course. And hold my right hand with your left." He grasped her proffered hand gingerly, as though he was scared of it. They both realized at the same moment that he hadn't replaced his gloves after his earlier attempts on the organ.

"I apologize, shall I-"

"No, it is fine." Christine assured him, her voice pitched rather higher than usual. His touch was cool, but not unpleasant. "Your other hand will rest on my back." He gave her a dubious look, letting his hand hover behind her for an endless moment before settling on her back in a feather light touch. "And you will need to stand closer to me." By this time Christine could feel her face burning, though she couldn't understand why. She had danced with countless men before, why did this have to be so hard? He took one long, languid step in her direction, and began to hum a soft, lilting waltz.

She was lost in his voice, vibrating through her body where their hands met. She stammered out directions, pulling him towards her as she stepped backwards. The dance instructor Raoul brought in before their wedding had complimented her on how quickly she picked up the steps, though she knew it was only due to her ballet training. But Erik was truly a natural, mastering the simple dance in moments, and hesitantly beginning to lead her in a circle, stepping with liquid elegance while continuing to hum a melody that she suspected he was inventing on the spot. Christine could only think of one critique. "Erik, you mustn't look at your feet while you dance." She admonished. "Madame Giry would always say 'they will still be there when you are finished.'" His eyes, wide and glowing, snapped up to meet hers, and she wasn't sure which of them faltered but suddenly his foot covered hers, and he gasped before she did.

"Christine, please forgive me." He said, breaking the spell of his song, but still holding her close. "Are you all right?"

"Yes of course. It happens all the time." She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it was difficult with her heart hammering in her chest. Here he was, assuring her safety once again, while he was on the verge of risking himself for her. What if something went horribly wrong at the ball, and she never saw him again? "Erik, you must promise to be careful." She blurted. "I know you are intelligent and capable, but if something were to happen…"

"You mustn't worry my dear, I will be fine." His voice and his eyes were softer than they had been in ages. He dropped her hand and raised his, shaking, to tentatively toy with a tendril of hair on her shoulder. The small gesture, so huge coming from him, shifted something. Perhaps she wasn't just a helpless ward to him, perhaps-

The doorknob rattled, and Erik stepped away from her with a guilty look in his eyes. Nadir entered, eyeing them curiously and asked

"So you are finished then?"

"Yes." Erik said, his usual cold tone restored. "Quite finished."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Erik had spent rather too much time on his masquerade costume, staying up nights sketching and sending Nadir out with very specific orders. It was all rather ridiculous, after all who was he trying to impress? But as he dressed in front of the only mirror in his house and contemplated going out to see Christine before he left, it hit him. Everything came back to her, of course. This was the one chance for Christine to see him as a normal man, wearing a mask only because he was in costume, ready for a sophisticated night on the town. If circumstances were different, he might take her with him. They could dance all night long, so close to each other that he could feel the heat sizzling from her skin, and no one would stare… He shook himself, and shot his reflection a nasty glare. He needed to keep his wits about him tonight, and succumbing to foolish lovesick fantasies was not going to help.

He regarded himself critically. The mask was shiny black porcelain, spanning from his artificial hairline to the very top of his lips, his chin being the only part of his face that looked passably normal. The top of the mask flared out in an imitation of wings, tiny lines of silver detailing their shape. His shirt was silken silver, with a black vest embroidered with dove grey music notes and staff paper. His trousers were black and unremarkable, but his cloak was the piece de resistance. It was lined with black velvet, and covered with a multitude of tiny feathers, which shone blue black in the candlelight.

He left his room apprehensively, wondering if he should just leave without seeing Christine and distressing her. But she was there the moment he opened his door, waiting for him, apparently. Her eyes widened as she took him in, and something flashed across her face that he had seen momentarily before when they sang together, some strange mix of excitement and fear and hunger. "The angel of music." She whispered, looking him up and down.

"Indeed." He said, remembering the way her face would light up when he sang to her through the mirror, before she knew what he really was.

"Well you look, I mean, it's a very good costume." She was blushing, but Christine was always blushing, and it could be for any number of reasons.

"Thank you." He said.

"So you're going?" What kind of question was that? Did she doubt his ability to protect her?

"Yes." They looked at each other a long moment, and he sensed that much could have been said, but nothing was. Finally she sighed and said

"Be safe, then." He nodded, wanting so badly to reach out and touch her. She looked so fragile, leaning back slightly to accommodate the bump in her stomach. He realized that bump had somehow become his responsibility as well, because it represented Christine's happiness. He left abruptly before he did or said something he would regret, giving Nadir a serious look on the way out that clearly said _Keep her safe, or else._

He stole into the street, keeping to the shadows as usual, when he realized that he didn't need to hide. He was going to a masquerade, had a legitimate reason to wear a mask. He could hire a coach, nod to ladies on the street as he passed them. He wanted to laugh at the simplicity of it all, wishing suddenly that he could live his life in a masquerade. But all too soon he had arrived, and was faced with the prospect of entering a respectable place quite publicly.

To his amazement he met no resistance from the servant at the door of the formidable mansion. And suddenly he was in, surrounded by people in lurid clothes. He realized with a sinking stomach that the somber colors of his costume made him stand out more than another crimson costume would have. His first instinct was to turn tail and flee, or evaporate into some niche or side corridor, but he forced himself to hold still and observe. Most people gave him a cursory glance then continued with their conversations or dances, but some, most of them female, let their eyes linger. What was expected of him? What did they want? He tried to calm himself, to remember what Christine had told him. He was to introduce himself to people, and dance with them. That was not such a tall order. But as he contemplated making such an advance towards one of the women staring at him, he felt ill. The dance he and Christine shared had been…intimate in some way. Magical. He couldn't imagine sharing such a moment with anyone else. It would feel wrong, not to mention terrifying.

He gave up on socializing and placed himself in a corner, casting his eyes about the room. It did not take long to locate his contact, a man dressed sedately exact for a mask that was a rather unfortunate shade of orange. But Erik was not willing to make himself known until he understood the situation better. So instead he focused on the conversation of others. He had nothing to say to the self important, artificial people in their garish, flimsy masks, but he forced himself to listen regardless. Most of the information was utterly useless. He heard far more about the price of Madame Deveraux's dress and the disastrous nature of Monsieur Girard's latest marriage than he cared to know in his lifetime. Occasionally he caught the name DeChagney, but it was always just a vague curiosity about what started the fire, or where all that money was going to go "now that the poor great uncle was gone." Erik paid closer attention to the two young women discussing this subject, attempting to draw closer without their notice. Deaths were always of note.

"Oh no, sweet old DeChagney passed?" Asked the second woman. The first nodded.

"Died quite suddenly in his sleep a few weeks ago. He was in remarkable health for his age, but I suppose you can never tell when someone's time is going to come."

"Goodness, does the will provide for that situation?" The woman who seemed to know the whole situation sighed and said

"Well of course everyone thought the little wife would produce an heir long before Raoul DeChagny died, but as that never happened, the attorneys have to look for the closest male relative. So naturally everyone's been in a tizzy trying to figure out who it would be, and the popular opinion seems to be it will go to Robert Leveque. Apparently he is a cousin through marriage or some such nonsense." The other shook her head. Erik saw red for a moment as the pieces began to fall into place. _Money?_ His Christine's life had been endangered because of money? Violent people were after her on the off chance she produced a DeChagny brat that could claim a lousy inheritance? He had no proof of course, but he felt in his gut that the great uncle's death had to be connected to the fire, and there could not be any other motivation for that string of events.

"Excuse me, I could not help overhearing." Erik interjected, not having the faintest clue what he was going to say. The two women gave him rather flustered looks, adjusting their hair and muttering in breathy voices that

"it was no bother at all" and

"they didn't believe they had the honor of his aquaintance?"

"Firmin Richard at your service." He supplied quickly. "It is just that I heard you mention Robert Leveque, and I have some rather urgent business to address with him. Do you happen to know if he is in attendance?"

"Oh yes he must be here somewhere. Wearing that god awful orange mask, wasn't he Cecile?"

"Yes, you are right my dear." Cecile simpered. "But the next set is coming up soon and my card is sadly empty. Surely your urgent business can wait a moment?" She fluttered her eyelashes in Erik's direction, but he was already gone, moving swiftly towards a swath of orange. Leveque was of average height with a shock of pale hair, a smile that seemed to be working wonders on the ladies around him and blue eyes that had a certain coldness behind them. Erik recognized the look all too well. His instincts told him that this was a man capable of murder, but luckily Erik was as well. He grasped Leveque's arm hard enough to leave bruises and growled

"Might I have a word." Into his ear.

"Certainly." The man gave Erik a knowing look and allowed himself to be dragged to an empty room. As soon as the door was shut, the Punjab lasso rested snugly around Leveque's neck. Erik surveyed his victim critically, noting that he wasn't showing any of the typical signs of fear or anger. Leveque was expecting this, and he clearly didn't think he was about to die. Icy apprehension worked its way into Erik's stomach, and he mustered his most formidable, commanding voice, saying

"Give me one good reason I should not end your life this very moment." Leveque gave another cool, unruffled smile and said

"Because as we speak, my men are dragging Christine DeChagny out of that hole you're hiding her in with the Persian man under the opera, and if I do not send them word very soon, they will kill her."

"You're bluffing." Erik hissed, even as he felt his heart begin to speed up. "They will never be able to get inside."

"They will if the Persian opens the door."

"And why would he do that?" Nadir would never betray them, would he?

"Because the code for one of you to let the other in is three quick raps on the entrance by the Rue Scribe, and two slow ones. Your friend is not as adept at evading followers as you, Monsieur Opera Ghost." Erik dropped his end of the lasso, his hands shaking with rage that he could no longer unleash, and Leveque calmly removed it from his neck and stored it in a pocket. "This party was getting rather dull anyhow. Let us go for a stroll."

"I am not going anywhere with you." Erik said, fighting for control when he wanted nothing more than to tear this man apart. Leveque merely tisked and shook his head.

"An attitude like that means certain death to the lady in question, and from what I hear she is so very full of life." Erik closed his eyes, praying that Christine's God would keep her safe.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"What was Erik like in Persia?" Nadir slowly lowered the heavy French book he was attempting to read, feeling that he was being drawn into a trap. Christine had told him she was far too anxious about Erik to sleep until he had returned, and asked if he wouldn't mind waiting up with her. And now, he thought he knew why.

"He was much as he is now, I suppose. Though perhaps he is kinder to you than he has been to others." The pretty girl, no, woman, he corrected himself, frowned, clearly not satisfied.

"But what did he do? How did the two of you meet?" These were dangerous waters indeed.

"I was sent to fetch him." He said slowly, trying to navigate the tricky subject with his still shaky French. "The shah had heard that Erik was a skilled magician and entertainer, and so Erik came to court. He advised the Shah and built him a fantastic palace."

"And that earned him the name 'Angel of Death?'" She said skeptically. The Daroga sighed, wishing Christine was as foolish as she first appeared.

"Madame, I do not think that is a story you wish to hear. It will only upset you."

"Nadir, please understand. I am considering involving Erik in the life of my child." She rested a hand on her stomach, and suddenly looked much older than she had before. "I need to know what I am getting myself into."

"Involved in what capacity?" Nadir asked, wondering for a moment how deluded Christine was about Erik's character if she thought he would make a good father. But then he remembered the way Erik had been with Reeza, and how soft he occasionally was to Christine, and thought that perhaps in some way it could work. Christine looked a bit flustered, and said

"I-I am not entirely certain. But I can't imagine that I shall never see him again once the baby is born, though I suppose I cannot raise my child underground." She paused, looking fretful and toying with her hands. "In any case, you must see why I need to know as much about Erik's life as possible, and it is not as though he will be willing to tell me." Nadir heaved a sigh. He knew Erik wouldn't want him to reveal the less savory details about his life, but he also felt that after everything, Christine deserved to know the truth. Erik's policy of keeping her in the dark about his true self had clearly been disastrous. Perhaps a small dose of honesty could help them both.

"Erik was also approached by the Khanum. The Sha's mother. She had rather… unusual tastes, and she asked him to entertain her. The Khanum being so powerful, he had no choice but to oblige. She manipulated him into her bidding for a long while, and I think it made him quite angry. I'm sure you know, Erik does not like to be controlled."

"No he certainly doesn't." Christine said in a small voice. "Nadir, what do you mean by unusual? What was Erik doing for her, exactly?"

"Killings. And tortures. In ah, inventive ways." He forced the words out, feeling like the worst sort of person for hurting the sweet young woman before him. She went still and noticeably paler, staring hard into the fire.

"How many?" She asked softly.

"I don't know." He had to force himself not to shudder. "I doubt he knows either."

"That many." Her voice was strangely emotionless. "All on the orders of some terrible woman." She buried her face in her hands, but he thought he caught a whisper of "poor, unhappy Erik."

"I am sorry." He said, eyeing her trembling shoulders guiltily. "I should not have told you."

"No, no I am glad you did." She sniffled. "I am tired of secrets, of things going unsaid."

"You truly do care for him, don't you?" He said, feeling rather amazed. He had always considered the strange relationship between himself and Erik as the closest thing the masked man would ever know to friendship or affection. She looked up at him with eyes that were startled and a little defensive. Suddenly he was embarrassed. "I am sorry, it is not my place to pry. It is just that I think if anyone in the world could make him truly happy, and not be destroyed in the process, it would be you." Was it naive of him to hope that after all this time the wretched man could still find joy?

"You really think so?" She asked, sounding frightened and disbelieving.

"I do." He said firmly, feeling strangely as though he was giving a child his blessing. He was becoming a sentimental old fool, Nadir decided, but he couldn't help wishing that Erik and Christine found more happiness than he had ended up with. As he heard the raps on the Rue Scribe entrance that meant Erik was back, Nadir suddenly felt guilty. Christine heard it too, and looked up expectantly.

"Perhaps this conversation could remain between us, at least while I am around." He said nervously, imagining Erik's wrath at what he would surely see as a betrayal.

"Oh of course." Christine nodded. "I do not have a clue how I would even speak to him about it. Yet." He went to open the door, thinking that if Christine truly meant to discuss Erik's time in Persia with him then she was braver than he was. He undid Erik's overzealous lock system, swinging the door wide, and was abruptly met with the barrel of a gun pointed at his head. Nadir's heart stopped for a moment, but he forced himself not to yell, as it would only make inquisitive Christine come running. The man holding the gun was a head taller than Nadir and considerably bulkier, and was flanked by two others of similar build.

"You ain't Christine DeChagny." He said softly.

"Who?" Nadir asked, attempting to keep his voice steady.

"Don't play dumb, we know she's here too. And if you don't call her and tell her to come out here in the next five seconds, I'm going to blow your head off, and go in and fetch her myself." He licked his lips and showed an unsettling grin full of rotten teeth. Nadir briefly considered telling her to run, but she would never make it, and could get hurt in the process. So instead he did as he was told, attempting to make everything as painless as possible for the poor girl, and called,

"Christine, could you come out here for a moment?"

"Certainly." She called back, sounding bright and unconcerned. Suddenly the Dargoa hated these men for threatening her. She had showed him unwavering kindness during his stay, though they had met under the strangest of circumstances. He was alerted to her presence by a rather impressive scream, and one of the men who was still outside rushed around Nadir, crowding close to Christine and burying his own pistol in the folds of her skirt.

"If you make another noise, you die." He growled. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but remained silent. The man in front of Nadir snapped

"Turn around." And he did so, feeling the cold metal of the gun in the spine of his back. The third man said

"Now both of you get into the carriage outside nice and easy. Either of you tries anything, you're both dead. Understand?"

"Yes." Nadir said, trying to inject as much hatred as possible into the single word. Christine simply nodded, tears beginning to stream down her face. As they were forced out of the strange little house by the lake, Nadir looked over his shoulder at the place where his tortured friend had lived out his best and worst days, and wondered if any of them would ever see it again.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Erik couldn't remember ever being this angry. He was used to solving his problems with logic and subversion, but he could find no way to manipulate this situation to his advantage. The man had Christine, and was taking him to her, but there was nothing he could do to ensure she went free. He could not even be sure she was still alive at all. He should never have left her side, he should have taken her and fled as the Daroga suggested.

The carriage arrived at a non descript warehouse on the edge of town, and Erik's hands were tied behind him by one of the numerous unreputable men that also occupied the carriage, and was escorted in by two more of them. All of his anger evaporated the moment he made it inside and saw Christine and yes, Nadir, looking relatively unharmed. Relief flooded him as he saw that nothing worse appeared to have happened to them besides having their hands tied and being badly frightened.

"Erik." Christine whispered fervently, and the joy and fear in her voice were equally palpable. However for once in his life he was not happy to hear his name on her lips. Nothing good would come of reaffirming that the two of them were connected, that Christine's safety could be used to control his actions. And the way she was looking at him was going to make it almost impossible to convince Leveque that he had the wrong woman, that the two of them did not know each other at all.

"Oh, so the beast has a name, does it?" Leveque asked jovially. Erik could tell that this was a man who did not see the suffering of his victims as a necessary evil of gaining power, but rather enjoyed it. The look on his face reminded him unsettlingly of the Kahnum as he stared at Erik, waiting for a response to his barb. But Erik had been called the same and worse countless times throughout his life, and it was going to take more than that to make him lose control. Erik saw Christine open her mouth angrily to protest, but he caught her eye and gave his head a slight shake. He wanted Leveque to think about Christine's presence as little as possible. "Goodness, are we no longer on speaking terms Monsieur le'Fantome?" Chided Leveque. "Come let us remove our masks and we can all sit down and have a nice conversation, face to face." He untied the orange mask as he spoke, revealing a wickedly handsome countenance, and approached Erik with a clear intent. But Erik was not about to stand for this disgrace. He would not be humiliated in front of all of these people, and he was most definitely not about to let Christine see his awful face again. An insane part of his mind had begun to hope she had forgotten just how terrible he looked without the mask. With a wrench of his shoulders Erik broke free of the men holding him and managed a step back before they caught him again. He used his most deadly calm voice to say

"You will not touch my mask if you value your life." Leveque snapped his fingers and the man closest to Christine pressed the end of a pistol into her temple.

"Oh, but I think I will." Leveque said with a slow, lazy smile. Erik immediately went still, seething. "You see you have sparked my curiosity. Who could inspire all those rumors about bewitching the beautiful soprano years ago, and then lure the widowed Vicomtess back again? You must have a face to rival mine." He removed the black feathered mask with a magician's flourish, and Erik found his eyes riveted to the floor. He heard the expected gasps and curses of the rough men filling the warehouse, but from Christine and Nadir, silence. As for Leveque, he let out a cold, echoing laugh and said

"My goodness, you are quite the charmer indeed! It is little wonder Madame DeChagny here could not keep her eyes off of you." Erik did not only want to murder Leveque, he wanted to make a long, drawn out, painful mess of it. He wanted to see Christine's reaction, but was too ashamed to lift his ruined face in her direction.

"Leave him alone." Christine gasped. "You want me dead, do you not? So get it over with, leave him out of it." Erik looked up at her, amazed. If he had not already been devastatingly and permanently in love with her, that moment would have been enough to secure him.

"Well you are right, Madame DeChagny, I do want you dead. And you will be, eventually. But your friend her, Monsieur Erik or the Opera Ghost or whatever we shall call him, has some very special talents, and he will be using those talents, for me, in order to keep you alive a little while longer."

"I do not understand." Christine was sobbing now, clutching her round stomach frantically, and Erik thought that the sound of her anguish was likely to drive him mad. "What have I ever done to you? Why are you doing this?"

"Why you married the Vicomte DeChagny of course. When I was set to inherit all that money with his death and a few other strategically placed accidents. But then you had to survive my fire, and worse, show up _pregnant _with a possible heir. You seem like a clever woman, Madame, you must see that this will not do."

"You-"

"She-"

Erik and Christine both tried to speak at the same time, but Leveque roared "Silence!" He paused a beat, smiled, and said "Much better. I do not explain myself often, and I will have silence while I do so. At any rate, my search was initially only for you, Madame, just one more loose end to tidy up before everything would be settled with the will. But then a funny little Persian man showed up. He began bothering my men, asking things about _you_, so they decided to follow him one night. See why he cared, what he knew about my prey. And he knocked on a queer little door behind the opera, and went inside. Four nights in a row, he did this. And then it all began coming together. Everyone had dismissed the rumors of a masked man floating around, asking about the dead Vicomtess, but I began to see they had to be true. You see I remember Vicomtess, I remember everything. I take note of people, in high society and low. I remember your little scandal before you became a DeChagny, I remember how people whispered about the Opera Ghost. How the police spent years looking for him but came up with nothing. And everyone said when they tried to follow the man who was asking questions before, he disappeared like smoke. That he threatened and coerced like he knew what he was doing. So I thought maybe I can get them both, the DeChagny gold and the reward money for the Phantom. But after seeing him tonight, and hearing all the stories, I want something else." Here he turned to Erik, the slimy grin still firmly in place. "You see, now I am quite convinced you are worth ten of my men. So you will work for me, and your payment will be Madame DeChagny's life! At the present she is the same to me hidden as dead, and when I tire of one of you I will kill the other as well. Come Monsieur, you seem like the type of man who would appreciate a plan as perfect as mine."

"What makes you think I care a thing for that woman's life?" Erik growled.

"Come, come." Leveque said. "Your-do you call that a face? every time you look at her or hear her is quite revealing. Human weakness is so very easy to spot."

"In that case, you have overlooked a very important flaw in the plan." Erik said.

"And what is that?" Leveque sounded amused.

"If you harm her. Ever. I shall make you suffer before I die. Even if I am moments away from meeting my end, I will spend my dying breath watching you squirm and expire." Leveque blanched momentarily at the naked honesty in Erik's voice, but quickly recovered.

"I am afraid when that time comes, you may find yourself rather outnumbered." He said smoothly. "Now, we have one more friend to consider, do we not? Please sir, introduce yourself." He said, gesturing regally in Nadir's direction.

"Nadir Khan." He said calmly. The Daroga always had an uncanny ability to keep his countenance in the worst of situations.

"Unfortunately, you have become rather superfluous to our purposes. You know far too much, and I hardly need three prisoners to keep track of. Say goodbye to your friends, Monsieur Khan." It took a beat for them to all process what Leveque had said. Perhaps longer for Nadir, as it was said in his second language. Then there was one gun shot, and the thud of the Daroga's body hitting the floor, and there was a strange rushing in Erik's ears, and he heard a terrible, guttural roar that he later realized was his own voice. But in that moment, he felt numb, even as they dragged Christine away to a cell amidst her hysterical sobs. In fact he still felt nothing as Leveque issued his orders to Erik with his customary sneer. And as Erik went about following Leveque's instructions, snuffing out lives on the orders of another with calm efficiency, his only fully formed thought was that it was just like old times. The Daroga would have been so disappointed.

**AN: To anyone still reading, again I am sorry about how erratically I have been updating. And I'm sorry about what I just did to Nadir. Also I feel like a "T" rating should still be fine even though stuff is getting kinda dark, but if anyone disagrees shoot me a review or a PM and I'll change it. And yeah, happy thanksgiving? O_o**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Christine stared at the walls. She did not know for how long, and she didn't particularly care. This was what she was good at. Sitting still while others made decisions around her. Being a prisoner. Freezing from the inside out.

She supposed from the amount of food that had been shoved through the bars of her cage that it had been a few days, but she couldn't be bothered to eat it. This would all be over eventually, better sooner rather than later. The sooner she finished wasting away, the sooner Erik could be free. She would not be used as a tool against him. She was so, so tired of causing him heartache. Her only real regret was her unborn child. She was fairly certain she had wept bitterly for it, for a while. But Leveque had made it clear she and her child would never be allowed to thrive. She would never live to see if her baby had her eyes or Raoul's. She let out a small sigh at the thought but that was about all she could muster. She could already feel herself weakening, and took pleasure in the fact. Maybe soon she could see her papa…

"Christine." Oh she knew that voice. How she knew it. She looked up and there he was, being let into her cell by one of the awful guards, and covering up his face with one wide, pale spidery hand. After everything, did he really think _that _mattered? She couldn't help but giggle. "Forgive me, they refused to return my mask."

"Erik please. For all we know this is the last time we will ever speak to each other. I would like to see your face." He slowly lowered the hand and stared at her with big, glowing eyes. She looked back without shame or fear, soaking up the face that had caused so much pain. She mustered a small smile. This was just Erik, and at the moment she was just Christine, not an angel or a student or a muse or a Vicomtess. If they were free, what could they have been together?

"They say you aren't eating." He said, finally breaking the pressing silence. "That is the only reason they let me in, to convince you to do so." She shrugged.

"What is the point? If I am to die, I might as well do so now, on my own terms." He drew closer and sat down on the stone bench next to her, and scenes from his dark opera filled her mind unbidden. The apple, his hands, their voices spiraling out together…

"Christine." He whispered, his breath an inexplicable torture in her ear. "I think that I can get us out of here. I am working on a plan. But for it to work you need to be ready. You need to be strong enough to run, do you understand?"

"We can leave?" She asked, hardly daring to believe. "Truly?" He paused, searching her eyes, then said

"Yes. But you must stay alive until then." She nodded. "Do you promise?" She nodded again.

"What are they making you do?" She asked. He looked away. "Are you killing again, as you did in Persia?" He stiffened. "Nadir told me." He let out a long sigh, and a whisper of,

"Nadir." Then, "Yes, I am killing. And stealing and threatening and all the rest. And it hardly even phases me anymore." She raised a shaking hand and put it on his back, then, abandoning all pretenses of decorum and detachment, she embraced him fully. He shuddered, and she felt his terrible face come to rest on top of her head as he inhaled deeply. They might have stayed that way for minutes or hours, but finally she said

"So what must I do to be ready? How will I know when it is time to flee?" He raised his head slowly, eyes burning in to hers.

"I will come fetch you, but you must stay alert."

"Will it be dangerous?"

"Most likely." She smiled, appreciating his brutal honesty.

"One of us could be killed."

"Yes." He looked pained, his emotions so clear for once on his unmasked face. And suddenly the thought of losing him was terrifying, and her hands were coming up to cup his face, and he was gasping and she was leaning up to meet him and his mouth was on hers. And this kiss was like nothing she had ever experienced. It was heady and searing, and made her whole body come alive and sing in ways it never had before. And she was floating, her only contact with the world his lips, moving against hers without fear for once, and his trembling hands sliding across her cheeks and into her hair and down her back, and the uneven planes of his face and angular shoulders and the tight chords of his arms, firm and real under her palms. It went on and on and she felt all her years of sadness and uncertainty melting away. This was right. This was where she belonged. As they finally pulled apart she wished fervently that it had never happened. Because she understood with an awful clarity how much the broken man before her mattered. She would not be able to go on if she lost him too. There was no life for her without Erik in it.

They spent a long moment just looking and absorbing, breathing in each other's air. But there was a sharp rap against the bars and a gruff growl of "is she going to eat yet?"

"Yes." Erik snapped back, seemingly unable to take his eyes off of Christine. For that matter she couldn't stop looking at him, and her hands were still wrapped tightly around his forearms.

"Well then get out of there, the master has more work for you!" The guard yelled. Erik slowly rose and left, holding onto Christine's hands until the last possible minute. He didn't say anything, but Christine didn't need him to. She looked towards the most recent plate of food, and found herself completely famished.

She felt more alive than she had since Raoul's death as she scarfed everything down, and it must have shown. When Leveque came to visit as he periodically did, he sneered, "Someone's spirits seem to have lifted. Did it have anything to do with receiving your handsome caller? I hear the two of you were quite amorous." She waited to feel herself blush, but it never came. She found she could not be ashamed of kissing Erik, especially not to a man like Leveque. "Come my sweet, what could you possibly see in him?" Leveque reached out a dry hand to caress Christine's cheek through the bars, and she shuddered. That hand had been indirectly responsible for the death of two men she cared for, and the enslavement of a third. "He looks like hell frozen over. And has manners like it too." Christine glared. She had never known Erik to hate someone enough to lapse in his impeccable politeness; he had even called Raoul "sir" to the very end. Perhaps Leveque was a special exception.

"There is more beauty in one of his fingers than there ever will be in the whole of your person." Christine said airily, before abruptly turning her back on the terrible man. He just laughed and walked away, humming a terribly off-key tune as he went.

Christine went through a few more days worth of food, nothing really changing in her cell except that now she hoped. She began crooning and singing to her belly to pass the time. Then one day, a rich baritone joined her, seeming to emanate from the back corner of her cell. She grinned and let her voice die out, as her current guard approached the cell door angrily.

"Hey, who's in there?" He said gruffly.

"What are you talking about?" Christine said innocently, shifting where she stood so that it looked as though she was trying to hide someone.

"What are you hiding?" He growled, opening the door and entering the cell. Erik materialized outside of the cell just as the guard walked in, and beckoned Christine to leave. She waited until the guard had gotten sufficiently far in before she dashed out, and Erik swung the heavy door shut with a satisfying clang. The guard turned and began shouting that the prisoners were escaping, and Erik clasped Christine's hand and whispered, "run." And run they did. The few men they came across seemed confused and much less organized than usual, and Christine had the faint sense that something of great import had happened to disorient then. They all gave a nasty start when they noticed Erik, and no one made any true attempt to stop them. Leveque himself was nowhere to be seen. And suddenly they were out, and Christine was blinking against the sunlight and Erik was hailing a handsome cab and paying the driver an obscene amount of money to ignore his mask. As it finally hit Christine that they had gotten away, she sank back into her seat and dissolved into relieved sobs. She did not know where they were going, but it had to be better than where they had been.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Christine was crying. His convoluted, depraved plan had actually worked, they were finally free, and she was crying. Was she sorry to be in his presence again? Was she scared of wherever she imagined him to be taking her? Where was he taking her? Feeling sure that he would go mad without knowing what she was thinking, he said, "My dear, you are free. What is wrong?" He offered her a handkerchief, wishing he had the courage to remove her tears with his fingers. She smiled as she took it and said,

"Oh, nothing is wrong at all. I am just, overwhelmed I suppose. I expected to die in there, and now somehow we are out and safe. I am sorry, you must think me silly, crying because I am happy."

"I would never have let anything happen to you, Christine." He said seriously.

"I know." She smiled again, but all too quickly it melted away. "But how did we get out? It seemed far too easy."

"Let us just say some loyalties were shifted." She didn't need to know about all of the threats and shows of strength and cruelty that had been necessary to turn enough men in his favor, how many insidious speeches against Leveque and promises of compensation from the aristocrat's coffers had to be made before enough of the men were willing to let Erik have a free shot at him. He could tell that she was about to demand more details, but he said, "Please Christine, I do not wish to talk of such things, and you certainly do not need to hear them." She sighed.

"Just tell me one thing then. Is Leveque dead?"

"Yes." That had been one threat Erik had been only too happy to make good on, although it had not been as drawn out as he might have liked.

"Good." She said, brow furrowing.

"Good? Aren't you going to tell me I should have spared him, that killing is a sin?" He asked, perplexed.

"No. He killed Nadir. He killed Raoul." Her voice caught. "He wanted to kill both of us. I am glad he is dead." She said firmly. But this would not do at all. His sweet Christine was beginning to sound like Erik.

"Christine, you mustn't say things like that."

"But they are true!" She insisted.

"Yes, they are. But shouldn't you be reproaching me for such sentiments? You are supposed to tell me to be better." She sighed.

"I suppose I am sorry that you had to take another life. I wish there was someway that you didn't. But I cannot be sorry for his loss." He nodded uneasily. Her feelings were rational, of course, but oh what was the cruel, dark world doing to his sweet Christine? There was silence in the cab for a long while, until Christine brought up the inevitable question.

"Erik, where are we going? Surely not back to the opera?"

"No, it is not safe for us to be in France anymore." If the encounter with Leveque had taught him anything, it was that he could not be too cautious, of people desiring Christine's ties to the DeChagny line or wishing to arrest him for his innumerable crimes. But he had a sudden terror that Christine would not want to leave with him, that she would demand to be let out of the carriage and allowed to fend for herself, rather than being dragged out of the country by a monster. But she simply asked

"Where is it safe for us, then?" She sounded so empty, suddenly, so lost and scared.

"We should be able to remain anonymous in any other country with minimal effort. Where would you like to go?" He had always been the master of his own fate, had moved on to any land he wished whenever the fancy struck him. But he found it was rather exhilarating to let Christine choose. She seemed to think for a long moment, then looked around at him and said

"Take us somewhere you were happy." He raised an eyebrow, though of course she couldn't see as he had been sure to retrieve his mask. Did Christine understand nothing about his life? He did not have happy memories, only some that were slightly more tolerable than others. "Oh come Erik." She huffed, beginning to sound more like herself. "There must have been sometime you were happy, even for a little while?" He was about to say that no, there wasn't, when Giovanni's old, kind face rose unbidden in his mind. The man had betrayed him, of course, just like everyone in his miserable life eventually did. And in return Erik had caused unspeakable-no, he would not let his thoughts wander there, not with Christine so alive and real next to him. But before that, he couldn't deny that there were times, when Erik and the mason were together under the bright sun having a heated debate about architecture, or on a quiet evening when Giovanni would look on him with an amicable smile, yes, Erik supposed that may have been very close to happiness.

"There was one place, I suppose. You've studied Italian, have you not Christine?" He asked only out of politeness, as he had been present for almost all of her lessons at the opera. She nodded

"While I was in the chorus. Enough to understand the famous operas, at least."

"How would you like to go to Rome?"

"Rome." She seemed to taste the word on her tongue. "Sounds lovely." He expected a thousand questions, about why he had picked that city, what it was like, where they would live and so forth, but instead she just sank back in her seat and worried her lip between her teeth. He tried not to stare at her, to let her think through whatever it was that was on her mind, but Erik hated to be in the dark about anything, especially when it involved Christine. He was about to surrender to his curiosity and ask when she turned to him and said

"Erik, we need to talk." in a determined voice.

"I thought we had been my dear." She shook her head.

"No, about us I mean. About that kiss." _That _kiss. Funny, that a person could have so many that they had to distinguish between them. He'd had two now. And she probably hated the memories of both of them as much as he cherished them.

"I am sorry, Christine." Oh he wasn't, but of course he was, for undoubtedly hurting and disgusting her. "I should not have-"

"No! no." She interrupted him with a hand on his arm, then seemed to think better of it and removed it. "Please do not be sorry. It was just-I was wondering-how you felt?" Now she was staring at her hands, and she seemed quite agitated. He understood. She was worried he would want more. Well of course she knew he wanted more, but she thought he would expect more, would expect her to kiss him again or have some sort of romantic relationship with him. But he had learned a quite effective lesson that a kiss from Christine meant anything but a lifetime of happiness together. Yes she had initiated both of them, but the first had been to save her life. And this one? Perhaps it had been for similar reasons. Perhaps she had thought he needed a little extra motivation to get her out safely. Perhaps his voice had caused a moment of physical weakness that had nothing to do with _him._ Perhaps she was simply a scared, desperate girl thinking herself on the verge of death, looking for something familiar to cling to, even a monster. Whatever the cause, her motivation for such an action would never remotely resemble his.

"Do not trouble yourself." He said acidly, wondering how he could still be offended by her rejection even though it had happened so many times before. "I am not so foolish as I once was. I no longer retain absurd fantasies about…you and me. You've nothing to fear from me, we can act as though it never happened."

"Oh." He had to be imagining the disappointment in her voice and eyes. _Wishful thinking, you old fool_. He chided himself. "Right of course." She turned to look out of the window, and silence descended once more.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

He did not love her. The carriage wheels continued to turn and take them far away from everything she knew, and he wanted her close for some reason, or at least felt obliged to keep her there, and still he did not love her. She had acknowledged the possibility, the probability of his change in feelings, but she had not expected it to hurt this badly. She had not expected to feel like someone was squeezing the very last drops out of her soul. But hearing the words from him, knowing for certain that he no longer wanted her, made her see how much she wished it were different, how strongly she desired his regard.

It only served her right. He was simply paying her back in kind. He would have to be madder than she thought to still love her after everything she had done to him. And besides, she knew she was not as young and beautiful and naïve and pure as she had once been. She was no longer a work of art like she had been at the opera. And Erik did not appreciate anything that was second best. But still she had hoped. She had relied on the love that had been such a constant and frightening fact in her former life. But now she had no one. No one in the world loved her, and she could not even care for herself and she had a child on the way.

"Will you still take care of me?" Her weaknesses had a tendency to fall out of her mouth without pausing for permission from her mind. She could not bear to look at him as she waited for the answer.

"Of course." He sounded confused. "I will always take care of you, Christine." She wanted to ask why, but was too much of a coward. She had a feeling an honest answer would involve words like guilt, or obligation or pity, and she just couldn't face any of that yet. She felt the numbness beginning to settle back at the icy edges of her stomach, and let the cab fall silent for what seemed like an endless time. No doubt Erik was tired of her constant chatter. They continued east into an unknown and lonely void, and she watched the sun sink with her heart.

Finally, Erik tapped loudly on the rough of the carriage, and said "We shall stop at an inn for the night." He eyed her critically, and it occurred to her that she was bound to look disheveled after her time in captivity. She'd also had to loosen her gown considerably to accommodate her burgeoning stomach, and for the first time she feared that she looked deeply immodest. Erik made no comment, but removed his long black cloak and fastened it around her. She was reminded of that night that seemed ages ago, reading in the house by the lake when he put a blanket about her shoulders. The night Nadir had come. Poor, kind Nadir. She noticed Erik's shoulders tense as they approached the inn, and she wondered when was the last time he had spoken to someone who was not herself, Nadir, or someone who wished him harm.

The innkeeper eyed them with obvious distaste, and shook his head as they approached. "I don't want any trouble sir." He said, refusing to look Erik in the eye. "But I must request that you remove your mask, or I will have to ask you to leave. We cannot house criminals or unsavory types." Christine saw something dark and heated flash in Erik's eyes, and knew that he had been pushed too far by recent events to withstand the innkeeper's foolishness for long without resorting to violence. She placed a hand on his arm in a reckless attempt to calm him. Feeling desperate, Christine drew herself up and put on her best haughty Vicomtesse expression and used the most pretentious accent she could summon. She held Erik's rather fine cloak closed to obscure her dirty, ill fitting dress, and said

"How dare you sir. My husband was attempting to retain some degree of anonymity on our honeymoon. You know how people are about royalty. However, if you cannot accommodate a guest of such stature, please direct us to an establishment that can. Money is no object, of course." Erik was staring at her as though she had sprouted a third arm, but for his part the innkeeper looked embarrassed.

"My deepest apologies…highness." He squeaked. "Allow me to show you to our finest rooms. Do you have any luggage to fetch?"

"Luggage." She scoffed. "Why trouble oneself dragging belongings around when one can simply purchase more when needed?"

"Of course." The innkeeper nodded. "This way." They followed him up a narrow staircase to a comfortable room, dominated by a large ornate bed and an overstuffed sofa. "Is everything satis-"

"Leave us." Erik growled, cutting the man off. He gave a nod and a squeak of assent, then hurried away. Erik turned to Christine and asked, "Where on earth did that come from?" He sounded equal parts amused and incredulous. Christine shrugged, wrapping the cloak tighter around herself.

"I had to learn something from all those dreadful people at balls and fancy teas." She sat on the edge of the bed, and found she was achingly tired.

"Were they all so very dreadful, wielding their jewels and pastries?" He asked gravely.

"Only most of them." She giggled despite herself. A corner of Erik's mouth turned up for a moment as he settled himself on the sofa. He certainly did not seem to hate her. If his love was gone, perhaps he had reached some sort of distant, platonic affection. There had been a time before he revealed himself to her as a man, when he gave her lessons through the walls. She would share her childish concerns and he would give occasional pieces of advice or tease her gently. Could that possibly be enough for both of them? Could Erik simply be a friend? The concept was strange to her, but she supposed he'd had some sort of friendship with Nadir. She could not get the painful memories of the small Persian man out of her mind, and found herself asking, "Did Nadir have any family? Is there someone we must tell, that he-?" What little Christine could see of Erik's face became tightened and closed off as he shook his head.

"He used to have a wife and a son, but they are long since gone."

"You must miss him." She said softly, unsure of how to approach the subject, but feeling that it would be wrong to let the Daroga's death pass unnoticed. Erik was silent for a long time, but finally said

"He was a good man. He did not deserve the careless end Leveque gave him." The pain and anger were evident in his tightened knuckles and taut shoulders, but he seemed unwilling to give it any further voice. Christine had to resist a violent urge to wrap her arms around his thin frame. She knew such advances would not be welcome or comforting to him. She made do with whispering

"I am sorry." She felt incredibly inadequate. "He was always so kind to me." He had believed that Erik and she could be together, somehow, could support each other and be better. But of course she could not live up to such hopes. Christine was not enough. She never had been. "At least he is in a better place now." Erik made a derisive sound in the back of his throat.

"How can you be so sure that such a place exists?" His voice was cold and mocking.

"It has to." She closed her eyes and sighed, thinking of her papa. "There has to be something better than this." He shook his head.

"All I can be certain of is that there are places far worse." He said darkly. And she supposed he was right. Considering where she had been earlier that day, she should have felt extremely lucky to be in a lavish room rather than a makeshift jail cell. All she knew was that as she settled into the cold and lonely bed, she once again had the ridiculous urge to be held. And for once, she was not completely certain that it was her late husband's arms she desired.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Erik watched Christine sleep. He supposed, vaguely, that there was something wrong with that, but compared with everything else he had done with his wretched life, watching the woman he loved at peace and safe, finally, hardly seemed to rank. Besides, it was not as though any sleep would be found for him that night.

As dawn light began to streak the sky, he gathered his courage and set out to buy Christine dresses. If she could defend against prying innkeepers, he could certainly brave strange glances from a couple shop keeps to have her looking less…disheveled. Besides being dirty, Christine's pregnancy had rendered her past dresses rather ill fitting. He had declined to mention it, not wanting to offend her modesty or embarrass her, but as she had nothing to her name but what she had been kidnapped in he had an excuse to clothe her as she deserved.

He entered the first reputable looking shop he came across, drawing himself up to his full height. The older woman behind the counter regarded him with weary eyes that only widened slightly at his mask. He rattled off an order for any and every dress that was readily available in Christine's measurements. The woman began to shake her head immediately, saying

"The only dresses we have already made were ordered by other clients. I could have something in those measurements in a few days." He gave a slight shake of his head, and she stopped talking instantly. Christine would have new dresses before she woke today. If he could not make her happy, he would at least make her comfortable. He withdrew an absolutely ridiculous amount of Leveque's gold, and deposited it on the counter without comment. The woman gasped, most likely never having seen such a large amount of money in her life, and Erik was soon making his way back to the inn with his arms full of fine dresses. The innkeeper gave him a frightened nod as he entered, and Erik supposed he was fulfilling the image of a wealthy, newlywed husband rather well.

He opened the door quietly, not wanting to disturb Christine's rest. But she was quite awake when he entered, and she jumped to her feet, looking distressed and rather wild. "Where have you been? I woke up and you were gone."

"I am sorry." He said, bewildered. "I thought you would still be asleep." She shook her head, seeming on the verge of tears before swallowing and looking slightly more in control. Erik felt strongly that he was meant to help in some way, but was at a loss.

"I cannot sleep when I am alone. The nightmares are even worse. That whole time in the cell, I was completely alone. No one talked to me, it was-" She trailed off, but Erik didn't need her to finish. He understood all to well, and hated that Christine had had to experience even a tiny piece of the terrible loneliness that had haunted him his whole life.

"I am sorry." He said again, hesitantly setting the dresses down on the bed. Christine's eyes followed his movement, and she burst out

"No I am sorry. Here I am scolding you and you've been buying me clothes when I did not even ask. Thank you, Erik. Thank you very much." She grabbed his hands impulsively, then dropped them just as quickly, giving a shaky laugh. "I do not know what is wrong with me, I've not been feeling myself lately." She dropped her hands to her stomach, and eyed it suspiciously, seeming to regard it as the culprit of her strange behavior. For his part, Erik's hands were still burning from where Christine had touched them for a moment, and the rest of him was in no condition to keep up with her quickly changing mood.

"I-ah-it was nothing." He was still quite unused to being thanked. Christine ran her hands over the new clothes, and furrowed her brow. "Is something wrong, my dear?"

"No! Only, these dresses are very fine. They must have cost a fortune."

"Only the best for the wife of an important royal." He said. Did she doubt his ability to provide for her? Surely the Vicomte had showered her with expensive gowns, was he not allowed the same privilege? She smiled slightly at his joke, but still looked worried.

"But how did you get them? You must not have brought much money with you from home." She paused, and they both realized at the same moment that she had referred to the house by the lake as home. It made him strangely elated and sad at the same time.

"If you must know it was Leveque's money." He growled. Things had been far simpler when Christine had accepted everything he said or did without question, but he supposed that had been a symptom of her fear. "And buying a few things for you is by far the best thing his money has ever been used for."

"What will we do for money when that runs out?" _We. _Erik was not sure he had ever been part of a "we" before. It was a rather heavy concept.

"I shall think of something. I told you, Christine, I will take care of you." She gave him another hesitant smile, and he felt proud that recently he had become more successful at coaxing them from her.

"Well then, I suppose I should change." She said softly. He nodded, feeling his face go warm, and muttered

"I'll go have the innkeeper send up some breakfast."

"Try not to frighten him too badly." She giggled. He waited for her to change and eat, skulking around the edges of the inn and earning a number of curious glances. When he returned a proper lady had taken her place. She had selected a soft green gown that made her pale skin seem to glow, and pinned her hair up in a way that displayed her delicate neck and shoulders. He knew he was staring for too long, but she looked so beautiful, and so unattainable. Women like her did not belong at the side of men like him.

"What is it?" She asked as he continued to stare. "Did I do something wrong?" She patted her hair and smoothed her skirts uncertainly.

"No. You look perfect." Her cheeks went pink at that, and he made a note to remember the sight when she finally came to her senses and left him.

They continued their travels, Christine making up ever more elaborate tales to explain their presence and his mask at various inns, making a sort of game out of it. But in each scenario, they were husband and wife. He knew it was the only proper way for a man and a woman to travel together, especially when the woman was with child. But sometimes, he would indulge in fantasy for a moment, and imagine that they truly were married, that he was taking his wife on a tour rather than helping a widow flee for her life.

It did not help that once again Christine insisted he stayed in the room while she slept. Under other circumstances he might have locked Christine in at night and roamed the countryside to settle his thoughts, but she seemed able to sense his presence and its absence. If he left for even a moment he would come back to her in the throes of restless dreams, or else sitting up in bed, staring wide eyed at the wall as she clutched the bedclothes tightly around herself.

So instead he sat by her bedside, watching her intently for signs of unease, which he would attempt to soothe with a soft song. And it was torture, to watch her for hours on end looking so soft and vulnerable, always on her left side with one bare foot peeking out of the covers, and waking with the same little sigh and smile each morning. These were things that should be known by someone she was actually close to, someone she loved, not simply the only person she had left. It was becoming difficult, to constantly guard himself against believing she had any real affection for him, to remind himself that she only acted out of need and fear. But banishing hope from his heart was a skill Erik had been honing all of his life, and he was nothing if not a perfectionist.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Christine couldn't stop a wave of excitement and nerves when Erik informed her they had passed from France into Italy. She looked out of the windows of their carriage, searching for some clue that she was in a foreign land, but so far everything resembled the French country side. "What are you looking for?" Erik asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Olive trees, marble statues, famous paintings?

"You are absolutely right my dear, the Italians are quite remiss in not lining up their most famous works right at the border. I'll have words with those in charge." She couldn't help grinning at the grim tone he used to tease her.

"But really Erik, we will be able to see all the sights of Rome, will we not?"

"If you would like to." He said, sounding uninterested.

"Do you know where we shall live?" She still felt rather strange, talking bout their future living together as though it was certain when they had decided no such thing. But since learning how his feelings about her had changed Christine was embarrassed and a little frightened to bring up such a subject, and Erik never shared his thoughts until they were exhaustingly pried from him.

"I have a neighborhood in mind." He said shortly.

"From when you lived in Rome before?" She prompted.

"Yes." It was perfectly clear that he did not wish to say anymore on the subject, but Christine had had quite enough of his entire life before the opera being a mystery to her.

"How old were you? How long did you live there?" He sighed.

"I have no desire to discuss that part of my life." His voice was less gentle now.

"But I thought you were happy there."

"For brief moments perhaps." He snapped. "But as a whole it is not a pleasant story."

"Yet you know all about the most unpleasant moments of my life." She pointed out, remembering with chagrin the amount of tears over Raoul Erik had witnessed. "Why can I not know about any of yours?"

"Why would you want to?" He sounded genuinely confused.

"Because I want to know you." She sighed. "We are going to be living together for some time, are we not?" Oh goodness, she had gone and asked. What if he said no?

"If you wish." He said carefully.

"What do you wish?" He turned and regarded her with such an intense, heated look that for a moment she thought he would kiss her again, and she had just decided that yes, she wanted him to when he looked down at his hands.

"I wish to ensure that you are happy and safe. If that means staying with you, then that is what I shall do."

"But what do _you _want Erik? If it were all the same to me, would you rather go off on your own?" It seemed an endless moment that he continued to stare at his hands, and she stared at him, waiting for an answer and forgetting how to breathe. Finally, so quietly that she almost missed it, he said

"No, Christine. I have had quite enough of living alone. But if that is what you want-"

"No." She interrupted, unwilling to let him continue. "I have no desire to be alone either." He nodded stiffly, and a slightly uncomfortable silence descended until they reached an inn for the night.

Christine rattled off a customary story about Erik being her husband with a sensitive facial injury, and ascended the stairs to their room twisting her wedding band nervously. What sort of woman was she, using Raoul's ring to support a lie that allowed her to live in sin with Erik? But she could not feel that what she and Erik were doing was wrong exactly. They were supporting each other, in some strange way, at the very least keeping each other company, and she couldn't see why that should offend God or anyone else. In a way it would be easier if they actually were married, then she could travel with him and her conspicuous pregnancy and not feel a nagging sense of guilt and self consciousness.

It was almost as though they already were married, she mused, as they moved around with their customary nighttime rhythms. Erik had her dinner sent up and she wheedled him into having a couple bites of it. He turned his back as she dressed for bed without being asked and waved off her usual offers of letting him sleep in it for the night, insisting that he needed little sleep and certainly no bed. Instead he selected a wide armchair and spoke to her softly of Italian history, apparently a safe topic so long as it did not involve him. As her eyes began to flutter closed, she thought that the only difference between them and a real married couple was a few words from a priest, and the fact that they weren't in love. Yet Christine had met many married couples who were not in love, in fact many of them seemed unable to stand one another. She and Raoul had been one of the few lucky ones. It seemed not everyone got to fall in love, and certainly not twice. Perhaps respectful companionship was the best either of them could hope for. Perhaps…

When Christine awoke, she had a fully formed plan in her mind. All she was lacking was courage. She was not sure how Erik would react, but she knew it would be extreme and very probably negative. She watched him pacing the room in long strides and her stomach experienced a faint flutter, as it had been apt to do at strange times lately. She shook her head, pulling on one of her fine new dressing gowns and approaching the sole mirror in the room.

"Good morning Erik." She said, attempting to keep her voice even.

"Good morning." He replied, putting a stop to his pacing and nodding in her direction. "I'll leave you to change."

"No, ah, stay a moment please?" If she did not say it now, she would lose her nerve and never do it. He stayed where he was but said nothing, and she took a deep, long breath.

"I was wondering, that is it occurred to me that, um, it might be…convenient, if we were to get married before we reach Rome." God above she had done it, she had proposed to the Opera Ghost. For a terrifying moment she thought she would laugh, but Erik's immobile, clenched jaw drove any thought of levity from her mind.

"Convenient." He growled. "You have developed a rather strange sense of humor, Christine, and I am not sure that I like it."

"I am not joking." She said firmly. She _would not _cry. That would not convince Erik of her sincerity. "It makes perfect sense. We will be living together in any case, and people will expect us to be married. It would put an end to so many uncomfortable questions and judgments, it would make it easier to share certain responsibilities and burdens."

"So this is about status? Or society?" His voice had acquired that deathly calm tone which was so much worse than yelling "Must I remind you, that society does not look too fondly on freaks." He gestured at his mask. "You are not going to earn any invitations to parties with me on your arm."

"It is not status." She said slowly. "It's doing right before God. I do not wish to look like some loose woman with a child out of wedlock. Buying a house together, unmarried, it would be wrong." True she had lived with him before, but that was different, was it not? The house on the lake had always seemed somehow removed from real life, and now they had no choice but to flee together. She continued on before she became too confused. "But if people decide to judge us because of you're mask then I have no wish to be bothered with them anyway."

"Indeed." He said, his voice dripping with disbelief. "Perhaps it is the money you are worried about. I do not know how many times I must promise to support you Christine. You do not need to be my _wife _for that." He said wife as though it were a curse word, and suddenly her anger overrode her fear.

"This is _not _about money. It is about loneliness. If you marry me that means I never have to be alone again. It means when things are difficult there will be someone there to help, it means that I will not have to raise a child on my own, because I am scared of that as well."

"You-you would want me to help raise your child? You want someone like me coming anywhere near it?"

"Yes." She said earnestly. "I know you would not hurt it, that you would be as gentle and kind as you possibly could." She understood Erik well enough to be sure of that, didn't she? "But perhaps that is not what you wish. I am asking terribly much of you, I see that. I am asking you to play father to Raoul's child, I understand if you won't do that. I know we cannot have a conventional marriage. I mean, I know it won't be romantic. But I just thought, neither of us wants to be alone, and we could continue to sing and laugh sometimes and oh, be friends, I suppose?" She stopped talking abruptly, feeling she had said far too much. Erik was facing away from her, bent over the back of the armchair, gripping it so tight she feared something would break.

"You know I want to stay with you. That if such things were within my power I would-but Christine, why me?" His voice made her ache. It sounded as though each word was costing him something dear. "You could find a better man to do all those things, you could find one you love."

Another man? No, for years it had been hard enough to hold Raoul and Erik in her heart, and she knew neither of them would ever leave. There would never be room for a third. "That will not happen, nor do I want it to." She saw him about to object, and added, "I am sure." She was also fairly certain Erik would never find another woman he tolerated that would not be dreadfully frightened of him. Couldn't he see that they were the best each other had? He shook his head, looking incredibly pained.

"This is your fear and your grief talking. If you were in your right mind, if you knew everything about me, if you saw _this _again-" she didn't even need to look at him to know he was talking about his face. "You would not wish to share your life and your child with someone like me."

"Then tell me. And show me. Anything and everything you think I need to know. And if after all that I still want you to marry me, will you?" He looked at her a long moment, and she stared back, trying to look strong when she felt anything but.

"If I cannot convince you otherwise by the time we reach Rome, we will find a chapel before we find a house." It had hardly been a romantic engagement, and Christine had never imagined that she would be the one to propose to anybody, but she could not resist giving her fiancée a shy grin and blushing like a fool.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Erik did not know what was wrong with him. Christine had offered him marriage, companionship, eternal devotion, and he had attempted to evade her. In his wildest fantasies, he could not have imagined her initiating such an engagement. They could live almost normally in Rome, share tea and go for walks on Sundays. For a moment it had been so tempting to give in to the familiar dream. But Erik had nothing but time to think after Christine left. He had imagined what it would be like if she had stayed, the scenes playing in his mind over and over again. She would have grown to hate him, he realized, more than she already did. She would have become bitter and distant and not like herself at all, and that would almost have been worse than losing her. He could not let that happen to either of them. If Christine tied herself to him now out of fear, she would regret it very soon, and seeing that regret every day in her eyes just might finally end him. So he would have to show her, make it clear why he could never be a _father _or even the sort of fake husband she was looking for. And then? He supposed he would disappear, watch from the shadows to make sure Christine had everything she needed. Once she inevitably found herself settled with a new husband, perhaps then he would finally be free to die. Erik did not think he would survive the agony of watching her find happiness without him for too long, but nonetheless he still wanted her to find it.

"You seem to be thinking about something very hard." Christine said cheerfully, settling in a seat next to him. As usual, they were holed up inside an inn, because he could not take her out anywhere. He could not go anywhere without people mistrusting or fearing him, and they had good reason. A normal man would not be immobilized with panic when she asked to sight see in Rome. He would not- "Erik did you hear me?" He looked around at his sweet Christine, and forced his mind out of the depths it usually wallowed in. "What is on your mind? Are you thinking of what to tell me about your life?" Ah yes, he had promised to finally answer Christine's questions, no matter how little she would enjoy it. There was no time like the present, he thought gloomily.

"Yes, I was trying to decide where to start." He said with a sigh. Which of the nightmares that constantly plagued him would he transfer to Christine tonight? Though it was strange, when he had fallen asleep for brief moments on their journey it had been dreamless, and her sleep seemed similarly undisturbed so long as he stayed in the room.

"You could start at the beginning." Christine suggested softly, her patient gaze warming something inside him.

"A decent suggestion." He allowed. It would make her see why he was unfit to be a parent, at any rate. "I came into this world in much the same way as anyone, I suppose. Except that God saw fit to-" He stopped himself. No need to distress Christine by questioning her faith. "I was born with-" Words failed him again, so he simply gestured helplessly at his masked face. Christine nodded her understanding, biting her lip for a moment but remaining silent. Damn, this was difficult. It went against every instinct of his to share such memories with her, to willingly drive her away. "My mother-I suppose that is the closest thing to what Madeline was to me, though it is hardly accurate-she was disgusted, naturally. Horrified. I have no memories in which I was not wearing some sort of mask, so I must have worn one since my birth. She probably made Marie put them on me, as Madeline positively refused to touch me." But Christine already knew that, didn't she? Yes, he was sure he had mentioned it that night he begged for a kiss, the present Madeline had so fiercely withheld. And Christine had complied, and again in the jail cell, and there had been moments, usually when she was distressed or scared when she would clutch his hand or his arm. It was almost as though he was human to her, as though she actually wanted him close by. He could stop now, keep whatever shreds of illusion were left between them, agree to marry her without his conditions. Leave her in ignorance. It was sorely tempting, but then she was saying, with bright eyes and a trembling voice

"I don't understand." He gestured impatiently.

"Marie was my mother's-"

"No." She cut him off hastily. "I do not understand how she could not look past appearances for her only child. You had to hide yourself, even from her. How could she do that to a little boy?" Unless he was becoming even less skilled at reading Christine's emotions, it seemed the sweet girl's voice was shaking with anger. Being angry at Madeline was a preoccupation of his life, but Christine certainly had no reason to do so.

"To be fair, for a long while I did not know that I was hiding." He said, attempting to placate her. Seeing her upset because of him was so much worse than simply bearing the pain on his own, why couldn't she see that?

"How could you not know?"

"I was not exactly surrounded by playmates, or mirrors for that matter was I Christine? How was I to know that every child did not wear a mask?" He could hear the harshness edging into his tone but was powerless to stop it. He was in a cage again, being poked at and prodded to satisfy Christine's boundless curiosity, and there were some things even she was not allowed to touch.

"So when did you figure out you were different?" Her careful, apprehensive look was driving him mad.

"_Different? _Is that what we are going to call it Christine? Go ahead, say what you mean. Ask when it was that I knew I was a freak, a monster, an unholy abomination, a blight on the world of beautiful people like you." He was yelling, and some part of him knew that later he would regret it, but his small reserve of patience had completely evaporated. He waited for her to cry and flee the room and finally give him a moment of relief from her trembling and her wide caring eyes. She fixed those eyes on him now, and as usual something in his gut twisted violently as they began to fill with tears. He stared down at his hands in his lap, ashamed. He was startled when Christine's hand shot out and encircled his wrist, sure and strong. He looked back up to her and saw that her tears were still unshed, and she looked determined.

"That is not at all what I meant." She said, softly but firmly. "And I think you are avoiding the question. When did you know?" The images rose unbidden in his mind, the memories of that moment all too sharp and clear. And no one, _no one_ in the world had the power to make him relive them out loud, to make him feel that weak and helpless again. Except for this girl, who was suddenly a woman, who held his hand and spoke to him without fear. Anything she asked he had to give her, even if it was worthless fragments of his soul.

"It was my birthday." His voice was quite steady, quite empty. That was good. "My fifth, I believe. I came to the table without my mask on. It was terribly uncomfortable, you know. It was not as though Madeline knew or cared how they felt. But she was-" He paused for a moment, breathing heavily. He would retell the facts only. No emotions. He could do this. "She was unhappy with me, to say the least. She brought me to a mirror, the first I had ever seen. She showed me what I was." He snuck a glance at Christine. She was biting her lip so hard he feared she would hurt herself, and was clearly not planning to speak anytime soon. "I did not understand, at first. Everyone screams when they see my face, and I was no exception Christine. But I did not know it was me. I thought it was some monster, staring back through a window. I broke the mirror with my fists in my foolishness." He noticed absentmindedly that at least one tear had rolled down his abomination of a face. He was glad that the mask concealed so much. "Madeline was quick to correct my mistake, of course, though it took me a long while to believe her. She was less keen on stemming the flow of blood from my hands, but then who could blame her?" And then his words were utterly spent. There was silence, thick and pressing, and this time he could not bear to look at Christine, instead keeping his shoulders curled in and staring fixedly at the floor. He wanted to leave, vaguely, to be alone, but didn't trust himself with that much movement.

"Erik?"

"Yes?" He didn't look up, could not bear to see her face.

"I-" Her voice was choked with emotions he couldn't identify, and quickly died out. What was there to say, really? But then soft small hands were grasping one of his and uncurling the fingers he had unconsciously clenched. He still could not look at her, but felt a feather light kiss brush the center of his palm. Her lips had landed directly on a scar left by the broken glass of the mirror, so many years ago. He wondered if she knew.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Lying to innkeepers was harder in Italian. It was all well and good when she was singing a simple chorus part about love or war, but her vocabulary did not cover facial injuries or secret identities. Erik attempted to take control, but his charms seemed to be a bit less convincing than hers. After towering over the latest innkeeper and delivering a rapid, sneering speech in Italian which Christine could make out very little of, he turned to her and grumbled,

"This idiot won't let us stay." in French.

"Why not?" she asked.

"He thinks I've abducted you or some such nonsense." He muttered.

"As if you would ever do that." She giggled, grabbing hold of his arm, hoping to appear a happy, willing wife. He looked in turn offended at her joke and uncomfortable with the contact, but she was not about to spend the night on the street just because Erik refused to hold her hand. She looked around at the innkeeper and kept smiling, gesturing between her and Erik saying

"_Sposato. Amore._" She felt Erik's arm tighten at the words, and she realized that soon at least one of them would be true. The innkeeper gave her a skeptical look, but she just continued to smile and held onto Erik tighter. It occurred to her that she would be facing similar attitudes everywhere she went now, merely being associated with a man in a mask. How frustrating it must be for him, not to be able to do any small daily task without being harassed and stared at. She secretly thought she might have done something worse than hiding beneath an opera had she shouldered that burden her whole life.

There were still many things about Erik that she didn't understand, but she saw more than he thought she did. She knew forcing him to delve into his past was hurting him, but she would not spend the rest of her life with a stranger. He thought it was because he had to prove himself, somehow, before he could be a husband and father, but Christine knew deep down that there was nothing he could tell her that she would not eventually forgive. It scared her sometimes, how much she would allow in him which she would not in anyone else, not even Raoul. But there was so much tenderness in him, and sadness that she felt down to her very core, that she could not find it within herself to hate him or shun him. She might leave him, if he somehow proved too violent or unstable to have around her child, but she prayed that did not happen. She would miss him, for all his cynicism and rudeness and frightening past.

He had told her more of his past, never meeting her eyes and often with a breaking voice, and then she did feel like a horrible person for forcing such things out of him. She was sure there was more yet which he had not shared, but she found she could not quite blame him for that either. He'd had to stop speaking when he mentioned his jailer, Javert, and she was not certain she wanted to know why. Erik seemed to antagonize himself the most over Luciana's death, and Christine was ashamed to admit she had known a pang of jealousy over that. It had been foolish, she knew, to consider herself the only woman who had ever been…fascinated by him. But today he had seemed especially tense. He had mentioned that they would arrive in Rome very soon, and she guessed that whatever he thought was the worst of him would be revealed tonight.

She tried not to rush him, though she was terribly curious. She picked at her dinner and allowed him his brooding silence. The room was terribly warm, and her eyes were beginning to close before he finally spoke.

"Go on then, take it off." His voice was low, resigned, and at first she didn't understand.

"What?" She sat up straighter, wide awake.

"You're always taking off my mask. Well, this time I am granting you permission. Or does that rather take the fun out of the endeavor?" His barbs had no bite to them. He sounded utterly defeated.

"Why are you granting me permission?"

"Because you need to see what you are proposing to marry. I know you can't have forgotten, but perhaps your naïve little mind has conjured up a kinder memory than it should. So go on, take it off, and see what you wish to tie yourself to for the rest of your life." Christine did not appreciate his tone, but now was not the time to argue over such petty things. Erik was allowing himself to be very vulnerable. She could handle being unfairly chastised.

She knelt next to him on the sofa, reaching for the ties of his mask with hands that she wished would stop shaking. She was not afraid of his face, but she was afraid of doing the wrong thing in what she was sure would be a delicate moment. He held her eyes as she pulled at the knot until it came undone. There was fear in his gaze, a calculating defensiveness that was just waiting for a sign of disgust from her. She kept eye contact as she pulled the black porcelain away, then gently pushed the wig off of his head. It was him who flinched first, as her fingertips brushed his forehead, which was populated by only a few sparse grey hairs. Her eyes followed her fingers as they skimmed down his face, over yellowed, almost translucent skin stretched so tight that the bones protruded painfully, around eyes sunk too far back in his skull, surrounded by blackened, scarred flesh. And it was just flesh. It was terrible, unsettling, very sad, but in the end it was simply a face like any other. Her breath did catch for a moment, when she came to the dark, triangular hole where there should have been a nose. Her face was so close to his that she could feel the rapid pants coming out of it, and she was ashamed to admit that her stomach twisted for a moment. But she forced herself to keep looking. Before, when they had kissed, she had focused on the relatively safe areas of his eyes and mouth. But now she saw everything. It might have been seconds or hours, all she knew was that it seemed endless to her. She relented when she noticed that Erik was trembling harder than she was. She looked back to his eyes, which seemed to be begging for mercy, and managed to find a small smile for him.

"I really don't see what all the fuss is about." She said weakly. His mouth twitched, as though he wanted to smile but had forgotten how.

"Christine." He breathed, and her name was like a prayer. She waited, but it seemed that was all he had to say.

"So then." She said, working Raoul's wedding band off of her finger. The mark it left was sharp and bitter sweet, but it was the least she could do in the light of Erik's bravery. "Are we to be married?" He reached for his mask with a pleading look, and she let him take it. When it was back on he released a deep sigh and straightened his shoulders. In an elegant movement, he got up off the sofa and kneeled before it. With a dramatic flourish there was suddenly a simple gold ring in his outstretched palm.

"If you are still mad enough to wish to give me your hand, I shall certainly take it." He said solemnly. She simply nodded, her smile growing a little more firm, and he managed to slip the ring onto her finger without touching her skin at all.

The next day she felt the new ring as a warm glow. It was the closest thing to certainty she'd had since the night of the fire. She felt hopeful as they finally entered the outskirts of Rome. Erik was just as dignified and distant as ever, nodding disinterestedly as she hung out the window of the carriage and exclaimed at new buildings, but she sensed that a certain amount of tension had drained out of him. He was less snappish and she managed to coax the ghost of a smile from him occasionally, but he was a far cry from the lovesick flirt Raoul had been during their engagement. Even that thought would not dampen her spirits, because she held the memory of the night before firmly in her mind. She was not merely a nuisance to Erik, she was sure he valued her at least a little. And if she was careful and determined, she thought she could make him trust her too.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Erik was quite certain he was having a vivid dream. Why else would Christine be walking down a church aisle towards him, wearing the nicest of the dresses he had purchased for her, holding a small bouquet and _smiling _at him? But no matter what he did, he could not seem to wake up. True, it had been realistically unpleasant to actually find a church that would marry them but they had finally happened upon a very shabby and small chapel, presided over by an old priest who had looked on their strange state with a kind smile.

And yes, if he could design a perfect wedding for Christine it would have been in a lavish church with musicians and a beautiful white dress, and Christine most likely would not have been visibly expecting. And of course she did not love him, but he had never really expected that she could.

Somehow, for this one moment, none of the imperfections mattered. Christine wanted to marry him, of her own free will, and a smile so big it hurt overstretched his features as she drew level with him and rested her delicate hand on his. She was so very beautiful, her good nature somehow radiating from her soft features. She seemed to have taken extra care with her appearance when she left to freshen up in the little back room of the church. Her hair was tamer and twisted more intricately than usual, and her skin was lightly powdered. It was Erik's opinion that she never looked better than when she first awoke, her hair a wild crown around her face, her eyes soft and a little confused, but the fact that she had wanted to look appealing for her marriage of convenience, for the nearsighted priest they had met only moments ago and a broken monster who could not even marry her with his face showing, made him want to laugh and weep all in the same breath. He settled for trying to hold the hand under hers steady, and whispering "you look lovely, my dear."

"Thank you." She whispered back, biting her lip and blushing, looking for all the world like any other excited bride. The short service was a blur to Erik. He cared nothing for the God that had never cared for him, but he was glad that the traditional words brought Christine some solace. His attention was wholly hers. Every breath she took, every slight twitch of her hand over his was a symphony, and he was attempting to commit it to memory so he could listen again when the world dealt him one of its usual blows. When the priest asked if Erik took Christine's hand, he said

"I do." With more conviction than he had ever said anything. When the question was repeated to Christine he knew a moment of panic, suddenly sure that she would realize what she was doing and flee the chapel. But there was not even a breath of hesitation before her clear voice rang out

"I do." And then the priest was rasping out

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride." Erik caught Christine's eye, an apology on his lips, but she looked calm and expectant. He knew precisely nothing about how to make a woman happy, but he sensed that he was on the verge of delivering a deep insult if he refused to kiss her. Slowly, silently pleading for a sign that the small transgression would be allowed, he raised her hand to his lips. She gave him the smallest of nods, and he brushed his lips against the back of her hand for a fleeting moment. She did not flinch away.

And then it was over. They thanked the priest and were bundled back into the carriage and everything was just as it had been before. Except now he was a husband, and nothing was the same.

"Erik?"

"Yes lo-" he could not go spouting off about his love for her simply because they were married. "What is it Christine?"

"Where are we going now? Another inn?"

"There is a house." He said distractedly. Was he supposed to treat her exactly the same way, despite the solemn ceremony that had just taken place? He supposed he was.

"What do you mean there's a house? We've been in Rome all of two hours."

"I made arrangements. When we were with Leveque." He waved a hand dismissively, not wanting her to dwell on that time. She tilted her head.

"But you told me to pick anywhere to live, and we would go. Did you guess that I would let you decide?"

"I made many arrangements." He admitted. "I was unsure exactly what the circumstances of our escape would be." Or if they would even make it out. "If you had picked somewhere I had not planned for, I would have made new plans." He did not tell her that once they had settled on Italy, he had written forceful letters full of Leveque's money ensuring that their house would be fully furnished to Christine's tastes before she ever stepped foot inside. It was perhaps not the most prudent use of his resources, but she deserved to have comfort after all she had been through. Christine frowned and said

"You should have mentioned it earlier. It would have been so silly if I had picked another place on a whim after all the trouble you went to." He bristled at that.

"I was merely trying to suit your wishes. Finding a different house would have been a small thing."

"Erik, we are married now." He felt her gaze, and reluctantly met it with his own. "You must be honest with me, even about things which you find small, all right? That's the only way this is going to work." He bit back a question about whether the Vicomte had consulted her about every little decision. If Christine could move on from the past, then he certainly had no business bringing it back into their carriage. He merely said

"As you wish."

"See, you already have a knack for being married." She teased. "You must let me win every argument, and then I will never be cross." As if that wasn't how things already were.

"Is that all it takes?" He had meant to keep the light tone of the conversation, but it came out as an honest question, and she answered with a long, serious look. And there the dilemma was already: what exactly did they expect of each other? She gave him a brave smile and said

"You know, I am hardly an expert. All I know is that it is important to talk to each other a lot, so that we know if things are going well or if there is something we must fix." He nodded, and naturally could not thing of a single word to say. But Christine did not seem to mind. She merely settled back against her seat, humming slightly as she closed her eyes.

The sun was setting as they approached the house, and it struck Erik that it was rather a romantic scene as he helped her down from the carriage, or at least it would have been with another man. For a mad moment he wondered if he was meant to carry her across the threshold, but no, that was a whimsical tradition for lovesick fools. Christine certainly would not wish him to do so. Instead he simply located the key that he had directed to be left under the doormat, and opened the door for her.

As she ventured inside, he was glad that he had not carried her, because the look on her face as she first saw the house was breathtaking, and he might have missed it. He'd had the interior painted her favorite shade of deep blue, and all her favorite pieces of music were framed on the walls, as were a few paintings of the coastline, which he hoped reminded her of Sweden. A huge grin spread over her face, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a delighted giggle. Then she was running through the house, up the creaky stairs, remarking on the fully stocked kitchen with a generous stove, the elegant piano in the music room, the freshly painted crib in the nursery. He found her like that, a hand resting on the edge of the crib, her eyes bright with unshed tears and unless he was mistaken, gratitude. Blushing to her ears, she murmured.

"I have the most wonderful husband."


	26. Chapter 26

**It's still technically valentines day here, so happy valentines day everybody. Thanks again for reviews and follows, ya'll are the best : )**

**Chapter 26**

It did not surprise Christine that they gravitated towards the music room immediately. It boggled her mind, slightly, that Erik had managed to furnish a house he had never even seen before with a grand piano and a selection of string instruments, but she supposed her husband did have a way with forceful notes. Her husband. There was a strange thought. But he did look at home as he settled behind the piano, elegant and unruffled as ever despite another stint in a carriage. His fingers wandered, falling into the same string of warm ups they had been using since she was twelve. She could see that Christine suddenly. Vividly. How much had changed. And, as she filled the room of with her scales the best she could, how much had not.

He moved them into a duet, and as their voices danced around each other and finally merged, she almost let out a sigh at how good it felt to be singing together again. For a long while there was nothing but his rich voice and hers floating on top of it, their eyes meeting often and her breath coming quicker than it should have if she was using the proper technique. She wished they could go on like that forever, but Christine had less stamina for singing these days than she used to, and she had to stop and sit down. It had grown dark while they sang, but though it had been a busy day Christine felt wide awake. It was her wedding night, after all, and they finally had their own house. True, they had agreed on a nonromantic union, but as Christine felt Erik's eyes on her she wondered about his intentions. Feeling her face grow warm, she wondered about her own as well.

"You look rather flushed my dear, perhaps you should go to bed." He said, idly examining the various instruments on the shelves around the room. Christine had to bite her lip to keep a startled giggle from escaping. She was _married,_ with a _child _on the way, she reminded herself. She had no reason to behave like a ballet girl back at the opera house, sneaking romance novels under the covers and becoming flustered every time a stagehand eyed her. She snuck a glance at Erik and wished her tongue did not feel too heavy to ask what he meant. Was it merely his usual concern for her health, or was he asking for a moment to prepare himself before he joined her there?

"Yes, I suppose I will." Certainly nothing would be resolved if she sat in that armchair the whole night. Erik just nodded, now tuning a violin and very pointedly not looking at her. Infuriating man! He could sit out here tuning instruments all night for all she cared. But even as she thought it she knew it was a lie. Her new bedroom was beautiful but it was also large and dark and cold, and she wanted Erik in it at least to talk with her until she fell asleep. At least. Did she want more? She certainly would not begrudge Erik if he did. They were married after all, it was only fair. The thought had her palms sweating and her heart beating faster as she changed into a night dress and dressing gown. There were nerves there, yes, a little bit of fear but certainly no revulsion. And there also that swoop of anticipation in her stomach that she felt when they sang together or he moved around her with lithe grace.

There were no opera house gossips here. No barriers of faith or twinges of guilt about Raoul (at least none that were justified). There was just her and him, and the undefined push and pull that was between them, and Christine felt terribly unsure and weepy. She collapsed onto her bed but left a candle burning beside it. If he came in, then that would be…that. And if he did not she would not feel profoundly relieved, or forlorn and forgotten. In either case she would remain mature, reserved, detached. She wanted to laugh at how bad she was at fooling even herself, but settled for burying her face in her pillow with a soft groan. She really never would grow up, would she?

Christine woke with a start, images of a sneering Leveque holding a gun and orange blistering flames all twisted up in her mind. She must have drifted off as she was waiting to see if Erik would come in, and judging by the fact that her tall candle had completely burned down, it seemed he was not going to. She would not be sleeping again that night, and she wanted desperately not to be alone in the hours until dawn. She swung her legs out of bed, her face set in determination. She had every right to go to her husband's room in the middle of the night, and there was no reason for her to be blushing furiously about it as she made the short walk in the dark. She paused outside his door, staring at the wood for long seconds that slipped into minutes before she finally made herself knock.

"Christine?" He called. Who else would it be?

"May I come in?" It was easier to ask of the closed door than him.

"Ah…certainly." He said in the most uncertain voice she had ever heard from him. She opened the door to find him leaning down to light a candle next to his wide dark bed. He was wearing black silk pajamas, which hung off of his gaunt frame, and his mask of course, though his ruffled hair made her suspect he had just replaced it.

"Is everything all right?" He asked, sounding terribly uncomfortable. It was all well and good for him to see her in her ratty old nightdresses in various states of disrepair, but she found him in possibly the most elegant nightwear she had ever seen and he became shy.

"Yes. Well, I mean, I had a nightmare again. And I know its awfully late and I must be disturbing you, but would you mind very much if I spent the rest of the night in here?" It all tumbled out in a rush, and after a beat he said

"Of course." And began to make his way towards the desk chair. "Be my guest." He said, gesturing to his rumpled bed.

"No." She blurted, understanding his intention. "I would not expel you from your own bed. I think there is room for us to share it." He looked at her as though she had suggested Carlotta sing the lead in one of his compositions, and she wondered if it was possible to physically expire from embarrassment. He made no answer, merely continued to look like he expected her to attack him. Refusing to spend the rest of the night standing on his drafty floorboards, she clambered under the covers anyway, her rounded stomach making it awkward. Christine had never considered herself to be much of a temptress, but she felt especially un-seductive as she shifted around trying to find a comfortable position that accommodated her pregnancy, and mumbled "Come on, then." For the first time it occurred to her that Erik probably did not want her in that way, that perhaps he was the one revolted at the thought of a true wedding night. She became sure that her theory was correct as Erik continued to look at her apprehensively and said

"There is really no need, I am not especially tired."

"Please." She said, and was mortified to hear her voice shake. "I know I am constantly bothering you and I'm sorry but I _hate _sleeping alone and I would feel terrible to know I had expelled you from your own bed." And there she was crying again. No matter what the arrangement, there was a certain shame in a wife needing to beg her husband to occupy the same bed as her.

"All right Christine." He said, panicked at her tears as always. He climbed into the other side of the plush king bed with far more grace than she had, and that should have been the end of it but now that she had begun to cry she could not seem to stop. She was starting to understand the magnitude of a marriage of unequal affections, the pain of constantly seeking Erik out when she was craving company and always feeling like a foolish nuisance. He was lying beside her, stiff and unmoving and most likely wishing to be anywhere else, and all she wanted was to curl around him and cry into his chest. Then she heard shifting under the sheets, and his cold, angular hand was wrapping tentatively around hers. She laced her fingers through his as gently as she could, and rubbed small circles on the back of his hand. When she finally heard a short sight and felt him relax slightly, she felt a smile growing despite herself.

"You can take your mask off, you know." She said slowly. "I hate for you to be uncomfortable on my account, and its not as though I can even see anything."

"No." He said, but very gently.

"But-"

"Please, Christine."

"All right." She relented. She was always asking too much of him. But her tears had stopped, and his breathing was becoming even, and things seemed much better than they had moments ago. His hand was keeping her anchored in the darkness, but she still wished for more. Christine's favorite part of the marriage bed had always been when she and Raoul fell asleep all wrapped around each other, whispering about silly things until they drifted off. She did not see why she and Erik should not have that comfort, at least. It hardly required much passion or depth of feeling, just a certain closeness. She thought that Erik was most likely asleep anyway, and as slowly as she could she rolled to her side. Erik was lying still on his back, and she fisted her hand in the smooth material above his stomach, pressing her face close to his side so she could inhale his comforting scent. He gave a sharp twitch and a soft, drowsy moan at the contact, but thankfully showed no signs of waking. He shifted slightly so that his hand came to rest lightly on her waist, and as she sank into a wonderfully dreamless sleep she knew that her wedding night had been a rousing success.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Erik awoke to an unfamiliar sensation. Besides feeling more rested than he had in a very long time, something incredibly warm and soft was pressed against his side. He looked down to find Christine's lovely face burrowed snugly into his ribs, her hand resting on his abdomen and one of her ankles hooked slightly over his. His arm was wrapped tightly across her back, his hand splayed protectively over her stomach. He blinked forcefully, waiting for the dream to dissolve, but he soon had to accept that he was very much awake, and he could feel Christine _everywhere._ How had this happened? He must have unconsciously crushed her against him while he was sleeping. He needed to relinquish her before she woke. He knew that. But he was loath to disturb the perfect moment, and he was afraid that in trying to move he would wake her and suffer her completely justified disgust. He felt his whole body seize up in barely contained panic, and a moment later she began to stir, mumbling as she shook off her sleep. She picked her head up, raising calm, sleepy eyes towards his, and he blurted

"I apologize." Without thinking whether it was the proper thing to say.

"Whatever for?" She looked enchantingly confused, and the urge to kiss her was so strong that he had to physically clamp his mouth shut before responding.

"For ah, encroaching on your space." He realized then that his arm was still around her, and he removed it and put a few inches between them as quickly as he could. He missed her warmth immediately.

"Oh." She frowned a little. "Sorry. I think it was me who did the encroaching. I, em, like to be close to people when I sleep. I hope it did not disturb you too much." Disturb him? That this impossible creature had spent the night in his embrace? It was more than he had ever hoped for. What on earth had caused her to bridge the yawning gap between them on the bed?

"No, it was pleasant enough." He said stiffly. He thought he could admit to that much without scaring her off.

"Good." She met his eyes with a very small smile before becoming engrossed in the duvet. "Maybe we could make a habit of it? Only if you slept well of course. I did not have any nightmares." He peered at her for a long moment, wishing more than ever that he could read her thoughts. He could not make sense of Christine desiring his presence in her bed, not to mention being concerned for his quality of sleep. Yet as always with her, he could not discern how she could benefit from such a lie.

"Yes, that would be acceptable, if you wish it." He managed weakly. She nodded, a soft

"Thank you." Escaping her perfectly sculpted lips. There was a long stretch of silence as the two lay there, now quite separated, but still sharing a bed like any other husband and wife about to start their day. Erik thought that if he wrote a song about this morning it would be more sickeningly sentimental than anything he had ever produced. Christine was the first to break the silence, slipping out of bed (Erik made very sure not to stare, as she was wearing only a thin night gown) and declaring her plan to get dressed for the day. He nodded, not trusting his voice, and she was gone, though her perfume lingered on his sheets.

His happiness left almost as quickly as she did. He remembered where he was, suddenly. Only a few blocks away, in a less secluded house than this one, he had first learned to feel safe. And the outcome of that foolishness, that trust had been devastating. He had shattered an entire family before he reached adulthood. He had a strong urge to find Giovanni, but no idea what he could say were he successful. Besides, the old man was without a doubt long gone. Perhaps it would be easier to make his peace with a cold grave rather than a living man. He would go that very night, he decided, after a day of finally not travelling and not being constantly stared at. He would just wait until Christine was asleep and-no. The strange girl expected him to sleep with her. He remembered her wakefulness during their travels, and was sure that she would know if he left without explanation, and most likely be very angry about it.

He spent the rest of the day brooding, wondering how he could slip away while leaving Christine none the wiser. With a twinge of guilt, he remembered her earnest face in the carriage, telling him that honesty was the most important part of marriage. But he could hardly just tell her that he wanted to visit the grave of the kind old man whose daughter he had killed. Could he? It was true, Christine already knew the story of Luciana and had not run yet. He supposed nothing too terrible could come of his excursion.

"Christine, I will be going out for a short while." He said firmly once dark had fallen. She looked up curiously from the sewing she was making a terrible mess of. No matter how many times Erik showed her how she could not summon the patience to keep her stitches even.

"Oh?" She asked. "Where to?" _Honesty._ He reminded himself. It went against every instinct, but

"I would like to find Giovanni's grave. The man who-"

"I remember who he is. Was." Christine said quickly. "Would it be all right if I came with you?"

"Why should you wish to do that? You did not know him."

"No." She said slowly. "But I wish I did. Besides, it is not the sort of thing you should have to do alone, unless you want to, of course." Erik's first instinct was that naturally he wanted to go alone, but perhaps that was untrue. If there was one person from his past Erik actually wanted to introduce to Christine it would have been Giovanni. Perhaps it would be soothing, to have her there as he attempted to make peace with a man he had wronged so deeply.

"You may accompany me if you so wish." He decided aloud.

"Thank you." She said, springing happily to her feet.

"But put a cloak on first." If there was one thing that had not changed about Christine it was that she took entirely too little care of herself.

"Yes, husband." She said teasingly. A small burst of happiness flooded through Erik at that. He did not think he would ever become accustomed to his new title.

It was not hard to locate the neighborhood graveyard, cluttered with both tall and sinking headstones. It appeared mercifully empty, and Erik began weaving through the crooked rows determinedly, scanning each name he passed. Christine followed a step behind, a quiet peacefulness stealing over the usually talkative girl. Erik glanced back to make sure that she was not frightened, but she seemed perfectly at ease. He supposed she had spent her fair share of time in graveyards.

Erik felt himself go cold as he came upon the stone that bore Giovanni's name. It was weathered but not so old as many of those surrounding it. It looked slightly newer than the small marble one beside it, which displayed Lucianna's very short life. He felt stupid, for not expecting that, but he had not allowed himself to think it. Of course Giovanni would be buried next to his darling girl, the girl that always got everything she wanted, even a look behind Erik's mask. Suddenly her face was perfectly clear in his mind, writhing in torment a moment before she went plummeting over the edge of the roof. To this day, Erik was not sure if it had been an accident, a cruel trick of the crumbling balustrade, or if she had really chosen death over living with the knowledge of his terrible face.

"Oh hello." Christine said softly. Erik was startled out of his reverie to find that a middle aged woman had joined them before the headstones.

"I am sorry, I do not speak French." The woman said in Italian. Looking embarrassed, Christine muttered

"Right, of course." And repeated her greeting in Italian. The woman nodded, but her attention was focused in a knowing look at Erik's mask, as though she had been expecting him.

"You're him, aren't you? The man papa said stayed with him, and drew the most beautiful buildings he had ever seen. You are Erik?"

"Yes." He said, waiting with a dead weight in his stomach for her to call him a murderer and a demon. "You are Giovanni's daughter?"

"Angela." She nodded. "The plain, sensible one."

"I should not have imposed on this place. We will leave." He suddenly wanted nothing more than to be away from this woman whose eyes were lined exactly the way his old master's had been.

"No, please stay for a moment." She said steadily. "This is your wife?" She nodded at Christine.

"Yes." Erik said, and it was exceedingly strange to him to have such an honest answer to give. "This is Christine."

"I am pleased to meet you." Christine said, nodding politely.

"And you." Angela replied. "And I see I must wish you both joy." Erik closed his eyes, waiting for Christine's hesitant explanation that it was really only her joy to be wished, but she merely said

"Thank you."

"Monsieur, there is something I must tell you." Angela said. Erik steeled himself, waiting for the worst. "My sister's death was not your fault. Papa always said so, when he spoke of her fall. He said it was nothing but his own foolhardiness, in making you unmask yourself, and he never bore you any of the burden. He always said if there was one thing in his whole life he could still make right, it would be making you see that. But he never saw you again."

"I-" How could she _say _something like that? Erik could hardly breath. Of course it was his fault, all his fault. His face had killed so many people, one way or another. But it was exactly the sort of thing Giovanni would say, and perhaps even believe. He had always wanted to think the best of Erik, just like Christine. Sweet, brave, wonderful Christine who saw that he was overcome, that he was about to lose all sense of dignity in front an old stone grave and an old tired woman, and said

"Signore, would you mind taking a walk with me? I have some rather delicate questions, about midwives and such." Christine's grammar and pronunciation left something to be desired, but her good intentions were as clear as day.

"Certainly." Angela said, sparing Erik one more curious look before allowing herself to be led away. Then he was alone with his memories, and a broken

"I am sorry." Escaped his lips. It was whispered first in Italian, then French, then every language he had ever known. "I am so, so sorry." It was the closest to prayer Erik had come in a very long time, and he thought that if anyone deserved heaven it was the architect and his beautiful daughter. Time meant nothing, as he stood with his head bowed and his simple mantra spilling forth, but when Christine and Angela returned he felt slightly calmer and a little more whole. Christine took his arm tentatively, and he found that it was all right, to have her so near to a terrible piece of him. Almost all of the pieces of him were terrible, yet here she remained. For her part Angela gave them a long, evaluating look, then told Erik

"You have found yourself a rather amazing wife."

"Indeed I have." He said, regarding Christine proudly. She blushed and gave him a smile in return.

"She knows my address, should either of you ned to speak more. Please feel free to visit my family's graves when you wish, though I might request you bring flowers when you can."

"Of course." Christine said in her charming broken Italian. "Thank you so much Angela, for everything." The woman nodded, said

"I will be seeing you, Christine." and went on her way. Erik was left thinking that only his wife could use a graveyard stroll to come to first name terms with someone.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Christine came home feeling as though she was about to be sick, though she had not experienced morning sickness in months. Angela had taken her to see the midwife she'd used for the birth of her two boys, and though the woman had been perfectly kind, she had also been very straightforward and pragmatic, and Christine's pregnancy now felt frighteningly real.

"My dear, you look as though you've seen a ghost." Erik said as she wandered in dazedly. She stared at him wide-eyed, unsure if he was trying to make a joke out of his past tendencies. At the moment it hardly seemed to matter.

"Erik, I am due in a matter of weeks."

"Yes." He said slowly. "It should fall in approximately 22 days."

"You've been counting." She said weakly. He refused to make eye contact with her. "Of course you have. But do you understand what that means? In 22 days there is going to be another person in this house, a person we have to keep alive, and teach, and _parent._" She sat down, running her hands over her round stomach, wishing madly to keep its occupant inside a little longer.

"You will be marvelous Christine. And I-" he paused. "I will do anything that you ask of me to help." Oh it was all very well for him to tell her she would be marvelous, but Christine knew otherwise. She'd never had a mother, and had no idea how to summon the sort of strength her papa had needed to be everything to Christine, to answer all of her silly questions and tell her bedtime stories when he was undoubtedly exhausted himself, to keep her healthy and happy and so loved that she had never even realized other people weren't so lucky until she lived at the opera house. She still felt like a scared little girl more often than she felt like a grown woman

"But I always do everything wrong_._" She whispered, not really meaning to give voice to the thought. "And this is too important to mess up. It's a responsibility for an entire _life._"

"My dear girl, what have you ever done wrong?" She looked up at him and saw that he was not accusatory. He was genuinely confused. She shook her head.

"Shouldn't you know that better than anyone? I-I ruined you. And Raoul a little bit too I think. If I had gotten pregnant sooner maybe none of this would have happened. If I hadn't gone out that night and been seen Leveque wouldn't have found us. If I hadn't taken off your mask that first night in your house maybe we would still be happy. How is someone like that supposed be a mother?" The midwife had said it was perfectly natural for Christine's emotions to be heightened during the pregnancy, but she wondered if she would always feel this overwhelmed.

"Oh Christine." Erik said reverently. "You didn't ruin me. I did that myself, many years ago. You saved me, just as you saved your young man. None of this has been your fault. It was me and men like Leveque being monstrous, and if any good has come out of it, it is only because you made it so. You are so often sad because you care so much my dear, about me however little I deserve it and the Vicomte and this child you have not met yet, and that is how I know you will be the sort of mother your child deserves."

"Oh." Was all she could manage for a moment. Was _that _how Erik saw her? His words were beautiful, but no matter how long she stared at her large stomach it offered up no advice on how to go about believing them. "Thank you for saying that, I-" She shook her head. Somehow she felt more confused and undeserving than ever in the face of Erik's praise, which she knew he only bestowed when he absolutely meant it. "I think I need to see Angela again." She looked up at Erik, a request for him to accompany her on the tip of her tongue, when she remembered that it was broad daylight and Erik wouldn't, or couldn't leave. While they travelled their transitions from inn to carriage had always taken place at the break of dawn or after sunset. Sometimes Christine forgot that she would never take a Sunday afternoon stroll with Erik. "I will be back in time for dinner." Which her skeletal husband would not eat, but push around his plate for her benefit. "Thank you, really. I needed to hear that." She admitted, rushing out the door before he could see the unshed tears of gratitude in her eyes. The walk to Angela's house, which she'd learned once belonged to Giovanni and Angela's mother, was a short one, but Christine still found herself tired by the time she knocked on the old oak door. Angela opened it with a look of surprise.

"Back again so soon?"

"Yes. I'm sorry." Christine said.

"Don't be sorry, I have little enough company these days. Come inside." Angela's kind smile made Christine feel even more teary, but she held it in with a deep breath and followed the older woman up to the rooftop full of lush greenery and worn wicker furniture. Christine had to assume that this was the very roof from which Luciana fell, and she found it a little strange that Angela chose to spend so much time up here. Perhaps it made her feel closer to her sister.

"So Christine, what troubles you?"

"I'm scared." She admitted, her limited Italian keeping her sentences frustratingly simple. "I don't feel ready to be a mother, and I don't know what to do."

"Oh is that all?" Angela laughed. "Dear girl, no one ever feels ready to be a parent. I was scared stiff when I had my first boy. But have him I did, and we got along until I realized there is no magic fix, no one right way to do things. You just love your child and care for them as best you can."

"And its so easy as that?" She asked skeptically.

"No no. It is the hardest thing you will ever do. But you will do it all the same. Have you talked to Signor-I am sorry, I don't believe I know your husband's surname."

"Erik doesn't, ah, have one." Christine said, feeling foolish. She could hardly continue using Daae or DeChagny either, as she did not want to be remembered from Paris. Angela seemed to sense that Christine and Erik did not want their pasts pried into, but she looked momentarily stumped by this information.

"Well at any rate, I expect he is also scared. It is perfectly natural."

"Perhaps." Christine considered. It was hard for her to imagine Erik admitting to being scared of anything, but she supposed he could be regardless. However he did not have the same responsibility as she did. She knew he would care for the child for her sake, but she doubted he was clutched with the same fear of ruining all that was left of Raoul. "The baby isn't his." She blurted, and Angela raised her eyebrows, a hand going to her heart.

"Does he know?"

"Yes, of course." Christine was mortified at the implication. "We've only been married a short while. The child belongs to my late husband."

"Well, if he is a good man, he will love the baby just the same. The most important advice I can give is honesty. Be honest with the child, be honest with each other, because secrets always come out." Angela's eyes darkened at that, and Christine wondered how exactly Giovanni had first explained Luciana's death.

"They do indeed." Christine agreed heavily.

"The fear will-well it won't pass. You will always be scared and worried for your child, but it will become ordinary and bearable, and it will be accompanied by so many better things. Trust me." And because it was in her nature, because she needed someone besides Erik to tell her that everything was going to be all right, she did.

"Thank you. And I am sorry again for being such a bother." Angela waved a dismissive hand.

"I told you, I like the company. You are a very sweet girl, and you may visit any time you like. Your husband is welcome as well of course. I have always been terribly curious about him." Christine nodded.

"He is not a very sociable man, but I shall see what I can do." Angela smiled.

"The great geniuses never are."

Christine arrived home feeling slightly calmer and firmer. She was met with the smell of something delicious in the oven, and followed it to find Erik deftly removing a steaming dish of chicken and herbs and setting it on a rack to cool. She knew he was aware of her presence when he added a sprinkle of parsley with an unnecessary flourish, but neither of them said anything for a long moment, unwilling to break the warm stillness of the kitchen. It was Erik who finally spoke first, saying, "I trust you are hungry as ever?" Christine smiled ruefully and said

"Indeed. Everything looks wonderful." She had developed quite the appetite of late, and only hoped that it curbed once she finally had the baby. At any rate, she sat down to dinner with relish. The chicken was every bit as good as she expected, and Christine allowed herself a few bites before saying "we need a last name." He steepled his fingers and regarded her across the table, then said

"I suppose we do. Did you have something in mind?"

"No." She admitted, feeling a little foolish. "I thought you might want to pick, since I should have taken your name anyway." He flinched slightly behind the mask, a tiny reaction she'd had to train herself to be able to catch. She had hurt him some way, and the knowledge hurt her in turn. When would he stop taking everything she said as a veiled insult? But the moment passed, and he inclined his head and said quite calmly

"If you wish it, I will think of something fitting."

"Thank you." She nodded, then thought that if she had already upset him slightly she might as well get it all done with at once. "There was something else. When I talked to Angela she said the most important thing about raising a child was honesty and I thought-" She found herself unable to finish the sentence. He would hate her for this, she knew, but she also knew it was too important to let go. He sighed.

"There is nothing you cannot say to me Christine. Almost certainly, I have heard worse." She shook her head.

"I do not want you to wear your mask in front of the baby. Or when he or she grows up, either. I want this child to know _you_, to not be frightened by what is merely your face." Erik had gone utterly still, his jaw clenched tight, and Christine waited for the storm which she knew must be coming. But she could not regret her words. Perhaps all the blame for their troubled past did not rest with her, but she knew if she had understood Erik and his face and his history from the beginning, the two of them would have been saved endless heartache. She wanted better for her child. For that matter, she wanted better for herself.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Erik was frozen, completely felled by a force greater than himself, a force that was now chewing her bottom lip and regarding him nervously across a plate of cold chicken. He could not fathom how she could want to expose her child to what was quite genuinely the worst thing he had ever seen. But if it was Christine's child there would be a moment, most likely sooner rather than later, when he would be caught off guard and the mask would be snatched away, and he would see his own betrayal reflected in the child's eyes just as he had seen it in Christine's, the pain of an entire world and identity falling apart at the seams. Suddenly he couldn't breath, and he was leaving the table wordlessly and making his way towards the door as quickly as he could without breaking into a sprint. But Christine was faster, having no qualms about darting past him and spreading her thin arms across the doorway.

"Please, don't leave." She whispered. "Just think a moment. Talk to me. I know you are frightened." His eyes locked on hers at that. Yes, he was terrified, but Christine wasn't supposed to know. He was supposed to at least be strong for her, if he couldn't be good.

"I am going to ruin your child's life." He realized with a sinking heart. "They are going to have nightmares about the man who is supposed to be their father. I should leave now, before it ever knows me." She gasped at that.

"And leave me to do what exactly? Raise and support this child all on my own? We are _married _Erik and that means something to me. Does it mean anything to you?" It meant everything to him. That was why he had to do this.

"I can send you money." He offered desperately. "Come in and help, unseen by the child, if something difficult comes up." She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply.

"If you speak to me about _money _one more time as though that is all I want you for, so help me Erik. We made a promise to each other, and I considered my end of it. A child cannot hate you merely for how you look, but it can for being lied to or abandoned." That cut him like a knife, and he wished so desperately that it could be true. If he could be certain, that the child wouldn't recoil and fear him…but of course it would. Everyone did, how many times did he need to be shown before he learned his lesson? At his continued silence, Christine said, "If you cannot fulfill all of your promise, then I don't want any of it." She was trying so hard to be firm, but he saw her lower lip wobble and it nearly broke him.

"I should leave, then." He repeated tonelessly. She nodded, placing a hand on each side of her rounded stomach, looking as though she were trying to hold herself together "Christine I-" She looked up, guarded hope shining out of her eyes, and he couldn't. He couldn't tell her he loved her again, and be the one to walk away this time. "If you ever need anything I-I will know. And I will help." It was pathetic, didn't approach a fraction of what he felt or what he wanted to say, but it seemed this was all he could give her.

"No." Her voice was quite clearly choked with tears. "I don't want an angel of music again, watching me from the shadows. I want you here, with me, or not here at all. I want you to really leave." Of course. He knew it was bound to happen. He had always seen this coming.

"As you wish." He said softly. It was almost instinct, to reach out and touch her, but he paused his hand halfway to her cheek, and he turned and left before it could complete its journey.

It would have been so easy to lose himself in Rome, to slink into some opium den and never look back. But whatever Christine said, he knew it was not possible for a pregnant woman to raise a child and support it on her own. He had to ensure her future, even if it was without her knowledge.

It was disturbingly effortless to find Giovanni's house again. Christine had told him many times that Angela would appreciate a visit, but he'd been avoiding that house and that woman just as he violently avoided everything from his past. He supposed even leaving Christine was some form of running from unpleasant memories.

For once the stares he got on the short walk didn't bother him. It wasn't as though anything could make him feel worse than the look on her face had as he left. He knocked on the door which he had slunk through many times at the end of long days of work, feeling like a teenager again and wondering if it was too late to be making calls. Angela opened the door with a kind smile, saying

"Back again dear?" She craned her head up to look at Erik and her smile slowly faded away to be replaced with a tight, nervous expression. "Oh sorry, I was expecting your wife, Signor." _His wife._ Already the words were forming a deep ache within him. "Do come in." He crossed the threshold warily, and took a seat on the edge of the old overstuffed armchair she indicated.

"I apologize for coming at this hour." He began.

"No matter. I have been wanting to speak more with you for some time. What brings you here now?"

"It's Christine." He said slowly. "I've left her, but I need to be sure there is still someone close by to watch out for her."

"Left her?" She said confusedly. "The two of you are married. She is expecting a child any day now. You cannot just leave." He bristled at that. No one told Erik what he could or could not do. But her calm, forthright tone gave him pause. She spoke as though he had made a factual mistake, as though there was no way he could have actually failed Christine so spectacularly.

"Trust me when I say that it is better this way. If you knew everything about me-"

"I know enough." Angela said. "I know that your wife is a very kind, very frightened woman, and I also know that she wears a shy little smile every time she speaks of you. I do not know you sir, but with all due respect that seems enough reason to me to stay. Anything between the two of you can be resolved, if you want it to be."

"I would not be good for my-my family were I to stay. I am not discussing this matter any further, I am only requesting that you help me look after Christine if you care for her at all." He pinned her with a stern glare, and her eyes widened and she drew in a shaky breath before continuing.

"It is because I care for Christine that I must say this, as impolite as it may be. For the longest time I did not know whether you even existed, or if papa had just invented you to cope with his grief. It frightened me, to learn you were real. You frighten me, very much Signor. But your wife does not seem the sort of woman to marry without knowing what she is about. She is very beautiful, and young yet, and I am sure she might have had her fair share of fine men. She chose you to be husband and father for a reason which mattered to her, and you do her little credit by fleeing in the middle of the night because you had a moment of doubt." She did indeed look scared as she finished her speech, but Erik had little room in his mind for either anger or reassurance. Her words struck uncomfortably true.

"But I _can't _be a proper husband and father." He protested, the argument sounding weak to his ears no matter how true it was. She shook her head and said quietly

"Fathers don't need to be proper. They simply need to be there." And there it was, clear as anything in his mind. Young Christine, crying for her father, and smiling with such comfort when a strange man's voice reassured her through the walls. He wondered with a sharp pang if she would be able to find any rest tonight, without him by her side. He wondered if she would cry and pray to her papa again, holding her stomach and fretting about her baby all on her own.

"I am making an awful mistake." He said slowly.

"Everyone has a moment of cold feet." Angela offered softly. "Perhaps yours just came after the wedding?"

"Perhaps." He said faintly. What was he thinking, leaving the only person who had ever made him even briefly happy? If the perfect, radiant woman thought the two of them should be married, who was he to disagree with her? He had promised to stay with her for as long as she wanted him to, and that would always be the case. "Thank you." He said uncertainly to the old woman before him. She nodded, her expression still watchful and unsure.

The walk back to their small house seemed endless. He did not let himself wonder what he would do if Christine came to her senses and did not allow him to return. He simply had to try.

The house was cold and dark as he entered, and he was met with no sound when he knocked on Christine's bedroom door. He pushed it open hesitantly, expecting her to be asleep, but found her bed quite empty. Panicking, he went through every room in the house, but she was nowhere to be seen. He checked his own bedroom last, and found her curled up in the center of his bed, muffled sniffles indicating that she was still awake. She was too preoccupied to notice his silent entrance, and he could think of no fitting words with which to announce himself. He made his way tentatively into bed, curled around her from behind as they had been sleeping recently, and placed a questioning, shaking hand on her waist. She gave a violent start and turned around to see him.

"You're back." She stated hollowly. He nodded.

"For good, I swear it, if you would still have me." She gave a quick nod.

"And your mask?" The question hung there, soft and daunting, before he sighed and said

"I will do as you ask. If it-if I upset the child then we can decide on a different course of action. Together." and all at once her hands were locked behind his back and her forehead was firm against his chest. Surprised, bewildered, and outrageously, undeservedly lucky, Erik could only rest a terribly unsure hand on her back and rub it in small circles. Long after Christine had fallen asleep, Erik stayed awake to ponder the extreme depths of his foolishness and uncharacteristic good fortune.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

Christine woke to the very solid and real scent and feel of Erik's chest. She let out a relieved sigh and buried a huge smile there. For a moment she had been afraid that his abandonment had been all too real, but his return only a wishful dream.

"What is it?" Erik asked, his arms so stiff around her that she knew he'd been awake for hours. That made her a little sad, that he could only be comfortable embracing her during the precious few moments when he actually slept.

"I'm just happy you're back." She said, keeping her face hidden while she admitted it. He said nothing for a long time, and she finally surrendered and looked up to see what little she could of his face. He was looking past her, absorbed with something she couldn't see.

"I apologize Christine." He said. "Leaving like that was inexcusable." She shook her head.

"It's all right, you came back and that's what's important." But had he come back because he wanted to or because it was the right thing to do? Even now was he only holding her like this because he knew it brought her comfort, while he found it tedious? How terrible it would be if he felt just as trapped in this sunny blue house as she once had under the opera. Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Erik said

"But something still troubles you."

"It's nothing." She insisted, forcing a smile. She did not need to interrogate him about his motives when he had just returned to her. Erik was used to being a very private person, and she did not think it was fair to drag his emotions out of him at every turn.

"I believe it was you who said the most important part of making a marriage work was honesty, my dear. That problems could not be addressed unless they were first explained." She shook her head ruefully. He would use her own words against her.

"I just-do you really wish to be here, looking after a silly pregnant woman and soon her child? You could be doing so many amazing things, I would hate to think that I was keeping you." His eyes snapped to her face with a look of alarm and intense focus.

"There is nowhere I would rather be, Christine, and nothing I would rather be doing." Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought his arms tightened around her slightly as he said this, and she was suddenly very aware that they were embracing in the center of a rather large bed, their eyes and lips only inches apart. She thought that maybe she could close the distance even though neither of them was close to dying or leaving or crying and him tolerating her and maybe even liking her were almost certainly not the same thing as love. A sharp rap on the front door startled them both, and they jumped apart like a chorus girl and a stagehand caught canoodling in the flies.

Erik was on his feet instantly, holding absolutely still and seeming to listen for any clue about their visitor. Christine took a more straightforward approach, wrapping a dressing gown around herself and making to answer the door. "What are you doing?" Erik hissed.

"Getting the door." Was he going to forbid her to do that too?

"But you have no clue who it is. It could be dangerous. Just wait for them to leave."

"Why would I do that? Leveque is gone Erik, and no one here knows us. I am not going to be frightened of my own door."

"So you are going to ask all the neighbors in to stare at the freak then?" The harshness in his tone only made her soften. She knew it hid his fear.

"Would you rather I said you were not here?" He sighed.

"Yes, that would be for the best. Your husband does not have pretty social graces."

"You say that as though I am supposed to be surprised." She smiled, giving him a brief touch on the arm to soften the words before going to the door. She was relieved to see that it was only Angela, as she would rather not meet strangers in her dressing gown.

"Good morning." Christine said brightly. "Please come in."

"Good morning." Angela returned. "Is your husband home?" Christine was about to say no, but the woman asked with such an anxious expression that Christine couldn't bring herself to lie.

"He's still in bed." She compromised, thinking that at least Erik wouldn't be obliged to speak with her if he didn't want to.

"Oh, I'm sorry for interrupting. I can return later."

"You were not interrupting anything." Christine assured her. It then struck her that she was still in her nightclothes and mussed hair, and she had been so tired of late that it was now much closer to afternoon than morning. She told herself not to flush but felt it happening regardless. Because the truth was she had wanted to kiss Erik, and maybe she even would have, and that felt naughty and mischievous and private no matter what the ring on her finger said. "What did you need him for?" She asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"I only wanted to be sure he'd returned."

"He came to see you last night?" Angela nodded. Christine was surprised. Erik was hardly a man who made social calls. "Do I have you to thank for him coming back?"

"No no." She said modestly, but a slight twinkle in her eye said yes. "I merely told him things which he already knew. I don't think he ever really wanted to leave."

"Oh thank you!" Christine gushed, giving the older woman an impulsive hug and then feeling foolish. "Just have a seat right there and give me a moment to change. Then I shall make us some tea."

"That's very sweet dear but there is no need. I can come back at a more convenient time."

"You will do no such thing. I insist." She fled to her bedroom before Angela could disagree further, and met Erik in the hallway. "You never told me you went to see Angela." She whispered.

"You never asked." He said defensively. "I just wanted to make sure someone close would be looking out for you." That warmed her and made her sad all at once, and she shook her head and said

"Well anyway, do you think you could keep her company while I dress?" He looked obviously displeased with the suggestion. "Please Erik, I'm a mess and I don't wish to be rude to our only friend here. She's already done so much for us. If you are comfortable discussing our marriage with her couldn't you make small talk for five minutes?" She expected a grandiose statement about how Erik did not make small talk, but he simply held up his hands in a gesture of defeat and said

"All right Christine, I will go make nice." She grinned and shot him a quick

"Thank you." Before dashing to her closet and struggling into one of her huge new dresses. She emerged to find them seated in the kitchen, Erik with his back to the door.

"The weather has been quite adequate of late." He intoned drearily.

"It certainly has." Angela said, catching Christine's eye with a kind smile. Erik looked over his shoulder and said

"Ah, there you are my dear." In a tone of profound relief.

"Sorry for the wait." She said. "Angela, how do you take your tea?" Angela answered and Christine bustled about arranging the kettle.

"I'll take my leave of you ladies." Erik said, making to stand.

"Don't be silly, I already know how you take yours." Christine said, attempting to give Erik a stern look. "Stay." It wasn't quite an order, but neither did it leave much room for argument.

"As you wish." She smiled her thanks, and he resumed his seat. Silence reigned while she was busy, but Christine thought that this certainly wasn't the most awkward tea she had ever served, remembering Nadir's visit with a fond sadness. Eventually Angela braved the silence, and said

"Christine never mentioned your profession Signor. Are you a successful architect now, as Papa always said you would be?"

"No." Erik said heavily. "I've not designed a building in many years, though there was a palace in Persia which I think your father would have appreciated."

"Persia." Angela sounded impressed. "You certainly have seen the world. But what will you do now?"

"Sell my compositions." He said firmly. This was news to Christine. He had been spending plenty of time bent over his piano and violin, of course, but never mentioned any intentions of selling his work.

"I did not know you were musical. Which instrument do you play?" Christine laughed.

"You would have an easier time asking him what he did not play. Erik could pick up an instrument he'd never heard of before and become a master by the end of the day."

"It would most likely take closer to a week." Erik said in a poor attempt at modesty.

"And what of you Christine, are you musical at all?"

"I've…dabbled." Christine allowed, unsure how much of her past she should disclose. "But I'm nowhere near Erik's genius. Do you play anything Angela?" She gave a short laugh and shook her head.

"Oh no, I could never be bothered. I've not the right type of artistic mind for it." Christine gave Erik a long look, and wondered where each of them would be if they didn't have the right type of mind for music. Angela's visit was concluded soon after that, and the moment she was out the door Christine asked

"You're selling your music?"

"I sent a few pieces to some people." One long finger traced the grains of the table, his eyes flicking away from her. "I wasn't going to say anything until I got an answer."

"Well of course they'll love them. Everything you write is amazing."

"Thank you, Christine, but there is no telling if they'll be interested in an unknown, anonymous composer." She shook her head.

"Your work will speak for itself." She said confidently. He kept his head angled down, but she didn't miss the flash of a smile. "So Angela's visit wasn't too bad, was it?"

"I suppose not."

"Perhaps we could have her over again?" His hesitation was slight before he said,

"So long as it does not interfere with what singing you can still manage. Or your rest." She pulled a face.

"Oh yes, my ever important rest."

But the truth was Christine liked singing and resting with Erik. He was becoming less reticent about joining her in bed once he realized that it truly did help her sleep better, and she thought that one day he might hold her close without being coaxed into doing so first. Singing with him was always amazing of course. Instead of pushing her as he usually would, he was gentle with her in lessons, allowing them to practice duets that were comfortably in her range until they were perfect. Those were still the times she liked best, with him seated regally at his piano, her leaning slightly on the back edge of it, and their voices somehow meeting perfectly in the middle.

It was a just such a night when Christine realized with a little start that she was happy. And it was not only because her and Erik's voices were softly melded together. If they were to stop singing, to just talk or sit in comfortable silence, she would still be happy. The thought made her smile as she sang, lent her tone a warmth and power she had not heard there in the longest time. She hit the high note with the least effort she had ever needed for this song, locked her eyes on Erik and saw his own smile beginning to form, when she felt something warm and wet and completely out of her control running down her legs. She looked down, and the liquid splashing over her shoes frightened her on a visceral level before she realized what it was. Her soft vibrato turned into a sharp squeak of fear. "Christine?" Erik jumped to his feet, looking at her with concern.

"Get the midwife." She said breathlessly. "The baby's coming."


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

Erik was no stranger to panic, shimmering on the edges of his vision and barely contained with sharp gulps of night air. But it had always revolved around his own preservation, and fearing for Christine's wellbeing was so much worse. Images of Christine screaming her last breaths in childbirth were ripped from his nightmares and played before him as he hurried down the street, oblivious to his surroundings. Leaving Christine in such a state seemed a horrible betrayal, but of course he had to. They couldn't keep a servant because of what he was. It had to be him. It hardly even occurred to him to worry about the midwife's reaction to his mask until he was knocking on her door. The short mousy woman paled a bit at the sight of him, but did not pose any intrusive questions. Erik thought with some shame that Christine must have warned her.

"Hello." She said. "You must be Signor-actually Christine did not tell me your last name."

"Mouliné." Erik said, blindly grasping at the first name he thought of. He realized it was the name of the composer who had written the duet Christine and he were singing when her labor started. No, names were the least of his worries right now. "My wife is in labor. You must come at once." His tone must have been sharper than intended, as she flinched back from him before nodding quickly. Again, it hardly seemed to matter.

She and her assistant-he could hardly be bothered to remember their names at a time like this-were too slow for his taste on the short walk back to his house. It took everything in Erik not to throw one woman over each shoulder and sprint there, and he wondered if they truly had what it took to assist a delivery if they couldn't muster more than their current shuffling pace. But they had been with Angela through three perfectly healthy births, he supposed they had to be good for something.

At last they made it back. Erik found Christine lying in her bed. Her face was a mask of calm, but her delicate hands twisting in the sheets told him otherwise. They had always been her give away, adjusting her costume when she felt nervous on stage or tugging on a loop of her hair when she made a mistake during a lesson. No one spoke for a long moment. Erik simply stared at Christine, attempting to will her body into a healthy and quick delivery, until finally Christine had the presence of mind to greet the women and say "Might I have a moment alone with my husband?" They nodded and left the room. Erik was at Christine's side in an instant, grasping the hand she stretched towards him with both of his.

"I'm frightened." She whispered, her eyes huge. He was terrified too, but he could not tell her that.

"It will be allright, my dear." He soothed. "You are strong Christine, in body and in spirit. I do not have faith in very much, but I have faith that you can do this." She nodded, her grip on his hand tightening for a moment.

"Thank you." She said, and the look in her eyes made him think she wished to say more. For the life of him he couldn't imagine what. "And remember the mask." She added. "Once the baby is born, take it off before you come in." He nodded, but all he could think of was coming back to find her lifeless form.

"Might I give you a kiss, before I leave?" It was a stupid, needy, sentimental request, but the question was out before he could stop it. His sweet, wonderful wife smiled and said

"Of course." Making to sit up. He kept her flat on her back with a gentle hand on her shoulder, and leaned down to brush his lips over her forehead.

"Good luck, Christine." She gave him another smile, and somehow he found a small answering one before departing. He met the midwife and her assistant in the hallway, and gave them a stern glare. "If either of you value your lives, she will make it through this birth with hers." They nodded, giving frightened squeaks of

"Yes sir."

"Well what are you waiting for? Get in there!" He barked. They scurried away, and he found himself quite alone. The silence unnerved Erik, and he told himself to go sit down, that births took a while and he was helping no one by hovering by the door. But he couldn't bring himself to leave, to get any farther from Christine than he had to in order to preserve her modesty. When her whimpers and then yelps of pain started, he thought that the silence might have been better. He began pacing up and down the hallway outside of her room, alternating between flinging prayers to gods he did not believe in and cursing the Vicomte's name. Erik had thought his anger towards the boy long gone, but found himself hating the fop more than ever for doing this to Christine.

When the screams started in earnest he froze in place. He knew childbirth was extremely painful, he was not a simpleton, but surely _those _sounds couldn't be normal. He was familiar with the sounds that people made when they were being tortured, guttural and desperate and not at all human, and those were exactly the sounds emanating from behind the closed door. Every instinct told him to burst into the room and help her, but he knew he could do nothing.

It went on like that for hours, and Erik felt quite sure he would go mad. Eventually Christine's cries began to weaken, her expertly trained lungs giving out, until they were replaced completely by the unmistakable wail of an infant. The midwife and her assistant spoke softly and gave coos of approval, but no matter how hard he strained to hear, no sounds came from Christine. Erik had removed his jacket as he waited, and now found himself pulling one of the cuffs apart at the seams. Finally the midwife emerged, a tired smile on her features.

"Congratulations Signor Mouliné. You have a beautiful baby girl."

"And Christine?" He fairly shouted the question.

"Your wife is perfectly fine. A bit tired, to be sure, but happy as anything." He felt himself sag with relief. "You can go in and see her, if you like."

"I shall wait until your departure." He said, remembering the promise about his mask with a swoop of nerves. But Christine had made it, and that was all that mattered. And she'd had a girl. Erik had never thought of that. Whenever he tried to imagine Christine's child it had just been a handsome, miniature version of the Vicomte. For the first time it occurred to him that the baby would be more than a cruel reminder of the happiness she'd had with DeChagny, it would be a part of her as well.

The midwife muttered something about cleaning up before she left, and returned to Christine's room for a few long minutes. But finally the two older women left, the assistant's arms full of bloodied sheets, and Erik was once again staring down the door to Christine's bedroom by himself. He removed the mask unsteadily but decided to keep it in his hands in case he needed to replace it in a hurry. He knocked on the door and Christine's soft "come in" answered. He made his way inside and found her propped up on pillows, looking pale and drawn and soaked through with sweat, but beaming down at the bundle of blankets in her arms as though nothing in the world could make her happier. She looked up, turning that smile on him and making him feel even more ugly and unworthy. "Come meet my daughter." She said softly. But the bundle in her arms was cooing and a tiny hand peeked above the edge of the blanket and the entire thing screamed of beauty and innocence and he didn't want to ruin it. He didn't want the frightened cries of the baby to shatter Christine's perfect moment. "Erik come here." She insisted, and he was powerless to refuse, his leaden feet carrying him forward until he was standing over Christine with a direct view of her child. The baby looked so small and fragile and pink, cradled in Christine's arms, yet somehow her eyes were already the exact warm brown of Christine's. Those eyes roamed up to find his face, and he held his breath, waiting for the scream that always came. But the baby just smiled and gurgled, a small string of spittle dripping down her chin.

Erik had the ridiculous urge to weep, and a sinking certainty that he was doomed to love this child almost as much as he loved her mother. "Would you like to hold her?" Christine asked. Erik couldn't find it within himself to refuse or to tell Christine that he had never held a baby before. "Here, sit next to me, then there's no way to drop her." She grinned and patted the mattress beside her. It seemed she couldn't stop grinning. He did as she asked, and she passed the heap of blankets to him with as much awed care as he received it. And the child hardly had a reaction to contact with him. It squirmed a little and continued to gurgle happily, and the sound made something inside Erik crumble in a decidedly wonderful way. He felt a strong surge of protectiveness for the tiny weight in his arms. She wasn't a very pretty sight yet, all wrinkled and not the color he had expected, but she was also the most breathtaking thing he had ever beheld.

"She's beautiful." He whispered, afraid that anything too sudden or loud would disturb this peace. "What's her name?"

"Anika." Christine said. "A good strong Swedish name. Papa would approve."

"Your father would be so proud of you." He said. She reached over to stroke the baby's face, her hand falling on Erik's arm and staying there.

"Yes, I think he would."


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

Christine wondered if it was possible for her heart to burst from too much happiness. All fears of not having the right motherly instinct had vanished the moment she saw her daughter. She still had no idea how to _be _a mother, but the fierce, final, all encompassing love she felt told her that she would figure it out, or die trying. And as she watched Erik stare at Anika with a similar sense of reverance on his unmasked face, her love for him hit her like a wave. The possibility of not only loving him, but being in love with him, had been there for some time in the furthest reaches of her mind, which she made a habit of avoiding, but now it seemed so simple and obvious. Her daughter had snatched her heart with barely a look, and it was suddenly easy to see that her husband had it as well. She had the foolish desire to say her wedding vows all over again, this time sealing them with a proper kiss. But more than anything, now that the excitement of the labor was over Christine just wanted to sleep and sleep. She knew the real work had not yet begun, but she felt incredibly safe and warm lying next to her husband, who was cradling her daughter with such care. "Erik, will you be all right if I take a little nap?" She asked, her voice already heavy with sleep.

"Of course." He answered. "Rest, my dear."

"If she needs anything just wake me." She mumbled, slipping down the pillows into a more comfortable position. She felt the hesitant brush of his fingers pushing the sweat-dampened hair out of her eyes before she was asleep.

She woke to the prod of a bony finger in her arm, and a baby's wail that had her heart beating too fast. "What happened? What's wrong?" She sat up quickly, her head spinning.

"I-she's crying." Indeed she was, her little fists waving against his chest and a terribly loud sound coming from such tiny lungs. Erik looked panicked, and Christine took Anika from him quickly, though she had little clue what was needed. The cry startled and hurt her, and Christine had to remind herself that this was normal, babies cried. A quick sniff gave her some clue to the reason for Anika's distress, and she felt relieved, saying

"I think she needs to be changed." Erik got to his feet and left the room, returning soon with a fresh cloth.

"Thank you." Christine said. "But there's no need to stay. I can manage."

"Why would I leave?"

"This is woman's work." Christine hadn't exactly been raised in a normal household, but she was fairly certain that men did not like to see all the messy bits that went with raising a child.

"If you were still living with the Vicomte, you would have a maid to do such things for you, correct?"

"I suppose." Christine said, carefully unbundling Anika and straining to hear Erik over her cries.

"Well I've not provided you a maid, and my hands work just as well as yours." Christine shrugged in defeat, not having the patience for this argument. Besides, Erik's hands were better than hers at most things, and somehow she was not quite surprised that swaddling a baby was one of them. Between the two of them they managed to figure out a suitable arrangement of cloth and safety pins, and Erik seemed quite unmoved by the mess.

Anika was still fussy, and Christine cradled her to her breast, humming softly. It was only when Erik picked up the tune and joined in that Anika settled, her breathing fast and delicate against Christine. She sat on the edge of the bed and took a moment to admire her daughter. She knew it was too early to tell such things, but she had already decided that Anika was going to be quite gorgeous. "I just realized something." She whispered to Erik, who seemed content to stand and watch them from a distance. "After everything with the fire and Leveque, I had a girl. She was never a threat to anyone's fortune the whole time." He shook his head.

"I have found that the most horrible people are often the most stupid. Leveque should have waited to see if your child could inherit, then used you and the heir as a bargaining chip to get the money if necessary." Erik's detached practicality chilled Christine. It was becoming plain that he'd lived his life seeing people as a means to an end with a few rare exceptions. She supposed she should feel lucky to be one of them. Wishing to bring some levity back, she said,

"So, I am Madame Moulinie now?" His confusion was so easy to see on his unmasked face, and Christine thought it strange that _she_ felt liberated without the imposing piece of porcelain between them. "That's what the midwife called me."

"Ah, yes. It was the first name that came to mind when she asked. We can use something else, if you prefer."

"No I like it. I think it fits, somehow." Erik just gave a small, questioning smile, which Christine returned with more force. "I expect you will make it more famous than the last composer under that name did." Erik refused to be proud of the letter he'd recieved earlier that week from a printer who offered to pay him handsomely for more pieces, so she would have to be proud enough for the both of them. He merely shook his head.

"You know I am publishing anonymously." But she didn't miss that his smile had grown a fraction larger.

"For now." She said primly.

She would think of that moment of peace often, in the coming days, and wish heartily that she had used it to sleep instead of dithering over names. Spare minutes were few and far between as their lives fast became a haze of wailing and sullied diapers and frayed nerves, which led to snappish arguments that dissolved into weary apologies. This controlled chaos was punctuated with occasional visits from Angela, who was a miraculous wealth of sensible advice for new parents, even more coddling for Anika, and delicious baked goods that were only really appreciated by Christine. However the kind woman's visits always had Christine flustered, as Erik would disappear to another room, refusing to let Angela see his face, and she would be forced to make some excuse for him. Christine tried to reason with him, convinced that someone as level headed as Angela would not be bothered by something out of Erik's control, but he was quite adamant that he would only speak to Giovanni's daughter with the mask on, and Christine was equally adamant that Erik would never wear the mask in front of Anika.

It had only taken a few exhausted bouts of tears for Christine to give that argument up, and allow Erik to slip away when there was a knock at the door. She snatched sleep wherever and whenever she could, but it was never enough. Even Erik, who liked to fancy himself above such mortal needs, had taken to slumping over his piano while trying to compose. Once when Christine found him like that his face had come to rest on a fresh sheet of staff paper, blotting the messy scrawl of notes he had just transcribed. She approached with caution, as he was still quite jumpy when woken unless he had fallen asleep in her arms. Christine tried not to feel too smug about the elusive peace he seemed to find there, wondering if any warm body would have such a calming affect or if it was just her. At any rate she hated to disturb his rest now, but he did look terribly uncomfortable, bent over like that. "Erik." She called, bouncing Anika slightly on her hip. "Erik dear, wouldn't you rather sleep in a bed?" He straightened with a start, his hands falling to the keys and making a discordant clang. Anika made a little upset noise at the sound, and Erik immediately reached for her, a soft lullaby already on his lips. The baby usually craved her mother's warmth and smell, but it was wholly unsurprising that Erik's voice was the only foolproof method of calming her when she was unhappy. Christine handed her over and watched affectionately as Erik, who had held the baby so awkwardly for the first few days, now cradled her as though it was second nature.

"Dear?" He said, after a comfortable stretch of silence from Anika.

"Hmm?" Christine's mind had been wholly fixated on the question of why those hands were still so hesitant around her. While conscious he still searched for Christine's approval for the most commonplace and necessary of touches, such as passing the baby between them, and was stiff and reserved during the process. But he had no qualms about embracing Anika. She'd even caught him tickling her toes one time, though he'd never admit to it.

"You called me dear." It was somewhere between a question and an accusation. She shrugged, avoiding his eyes.

"You are dear to me." She shot a glance at his face, which was confused and alarmed, as well as covered in ink from his music. That almost made her laugh, and she advanced towards him, licking a finger as she went.

"What are you doing?" He asked as she extended the finger towards his face

"You've got ink all over you." He made a quick jerky movement that she suspected was an instinct to cover his face with her so close, but he could do no such thing as his arms were full.

"And you were going to do what, touch it? It's bad enough you have to see it all the time, what would possess you-"

"Erik, do you really think that I am shallow enough to still be bothered by your face while you are holding my child, who most likely wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you?" Certainly for the first couple of days it had been a little jarring to glance up and see the death's head, but she always had far more important things to worry about in the form of a needy newborn, and now it seemed as common and unremarkable as Anika's spit up.

"Of course you're bothered, look at it!"

"Hush, you're scaring her." Christine frowned and reached for Anika, who had started a soft whine at Erik's raised voice. Erik handed her over with a look of chagrin. "Go get some rest, _dear,_ and please try to remember that I am not entirely a scared little girl anymore." He nodded, looking a bit dazed, and for once followed her instructions without fighting to do more of the work and let her rest. Perhaps he really did need more sleep than he let on.

"Sometimes I think your papa is more of a baby than you are." Christine whispered to Anika once Erik had left the room. She hadn't talked to him about it yet, but in Christine's mind it was clear that Raoul was Anika's father, and Erik would quite naturally be papa. "But that's all right, we love him anyway." _Now if only he loved me back. _Christine shook the thought away with a great force of will. It was Anika's job to cry around the clock, and Christine was slowly learning to hold in her tears.


	33. Chapter 33

**AN: Hey, sorry if posting has gotten a little slow. School's starting to get crazy, but I'm not abandoning the story! Thanks :)**

**Chapter 33**

Erik was on edge. He was feeling the beginnings of something very close to happiness, even contentment, and that was usually the sure sign that everything in his life was about to fall apart. He hadn't expected to like being a father. But seeing what Anika wanted and providing it was easy, and instantly rewarding. And she smiled at him and gurgled and laughed, despite the gruesome visage staring back at her. She was innocent and uncomplicated, and he found an overpowering fondness for her growing much faster than he ever would have expected. That made him nervous as well. He had spent so much of his life loving nothing, and then loving only Christine who had always been unattainable. It was surely only a matter of time before Anika turned him away as well. Once she was more aware of herself and her surroundings she would being to understand that he was a monster. But it was nearly impossible to guard against the baby's charms, and the same could certainly be said for her mother.

He knew their marriage was not meant to be romantic. She'd made that very clear time and again. But it was difficult to hold her every night, and sing lullabies to her baby and listen to her whispered worries and triumphs in the dark without wanting to whisper words of love back. Motherhood suited Christine. She looked bright and complete with a baby in her arms, and he had to remind himself not to spend entire days staring at her with a foolish dreamy grin on his face. Once he walked into the nursery and found her buttoning up the front of her dress, evidently having just finished feeding Anika. His eyes were riveted to the exposed flesh, and he felt his wretched face heating up. "Oh! I am sorry-I shouldn't have-I did not mean" he wrenched his gaze away and left the room in a hurry, yelling a strained "dinner is ready" over his shoulder as he went. He apologized profusely once she came into the kitchen, but she just laughed and said,

"It is fine Erik. You are my husband, it's no great matter." But those two undone buttons were a great enough matter to keep him up the whole night, and have him knocking loudly every time he entered a room from then on. He hardly needed reminding that he was a foul and loathsome creature who did not deserve to have such base desires towards someone as pure and lovely as Christine. He felt constantly exposed and deprived of the comforting touch of porcelain over his face, and still jumped when he happened to pass a reflective surface and catch a glimpse of himself. Christine spoke to him with if anything more ease and lightness than she had when he wore the mask, and had taken to absentmindedly touching his arm or back when they passed each other or she wanted to get his attention. The habit by turns thrilled him and startled him terribly, and sometimes he wondered if his face alone had the power to slowly drive her insane until she didn't see it anymore. But she seemed in a sounder state of mind than he had seen her in a very long time, and he supposed that her pleasure in having Anika safe and happy was able to override even the horror of waking up to him each morning. Maybe she imagined the Vicomte was beside her instead.

However her urging that Angela would accept his face if given the chance was a peculiarity he would not allow. Christine seemed to forget that not everyone was as tolerant as her, and that even she had been petrified when she first saw it. So when a knock came one sunny afternoon, Erik disappeared into the music room as usual. But instead of Angela's soothing voice, he heard a much brighter and more excitable one saying, "Hello, my name is Mariella. I'm friends with Vita the midwife, and I heard we have a new addition to our neighborhood!" Erik mistrusted her immediately. He had specifically purchased a house that was as little part of any one neighborhood as it could be, and why would someone they didn't know come to visit just because a baby had been born? His thoughts went to fortune hunters and policemen, and he was torn between retrieving his lasso from where he had hid it in the back of his dresser or staying within earshot of the conversation. Curiosity won out, and he stayed still, listening intently.

"Please come in." Christine said, and he knew her voice well enough to tell that she was not harboring the same suspicions as him. Why did his wife have to be such a trusting fool? "I'm Christine and this is Anika. Oh, these look lovely!"

"Why hello Anika. Isn't she darling? What sort of name is that? It's very pretty. Yes those biscotti are an old family recipe. Is your husband fond of vanilla?" The rapidfire, high-pitched Italian gave even Erik pause, and he wondered if Christine had caught two words in ten. The woman did not sound as though she was directly threatening Christine, but he certainly wouldn't put it past her to be gathering information for someone who was. Of course Christine just laughed and happily attempted to answer Mariella's questions. He knew she would be very upset if he killed the woman, or even asked her some forceful questions of his own. Again, he forced himself not to act yet, but to simply attend to the conversation.

"A Swedish name?" Mariella was saying. "But I thought you were French?"

"Oh I am French, I'm sure you can tell from my terrible accent-"

"Which part of France? Please say you've been to Paris! It sounds like a frightfully romantic city but I've never had the money to go."

"I used to live in Paris, as a matter of fact." Erik wanted to run out and put a stop to the conversation, as it was clear Christine was going to make no attempt to lie or evade, but certainly a deranged masked man yelling at Christine to keep her secrets would arouse more suspicion than it would remove. But even that subject did not stay untouched for long.

"Was your husband someone famous there? Was that why you had to leave?"

"Oh, no." Christine laughed a little. "What would give you that idea?

"Well Vita said he wore a _mask _when she was here, and I supposed he must have wanted to hide his identity for some exciting reason." Erik felt his breath stop for a moment.

"My husband prefers his privacy for his own reasons, but I assure you fame has nothing to do with it." Her voice was distinctly frostier than it had been before.

"Oh I'm sorry, I always ask about things I should not. It's a terrible habit of mine and I'm afraid you'll just have to forgive me and tell me when I overstep. But of course he doesn't wear it around you. So just between us girls, is he handsome under there?" Erik rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. This invasive woman was not even attempting to be subtle.

"Well of course he has the dearest face in the world to me, so I cannot be expected to judge for others." Erik almost snorted. His Christine could be quite the little actress when she chose. In the next room Ariella sighed.

"That's beautiful Christine. I always wanted to be wretchedly, monumentally in love with my husband. But mine is old and bald and nice as anything and just too _easy _to love do you know what I mean? We've no great story, our stars aren't crossed."

"Crossed stars are a bit overrated." Christine said gravely, and Erik winced at the sadness in her voice. Then Anika mercifully began fussing, and Christine apologized and said it was past her naptime, and the infuriating Mariella finally made her goodbyes and left. He listened as Christine went into the nursery to put Anika down for her nap, and entered the room silently before saying,

"I knew I was quite the Casanova, but really the dearest face in the world? You flatter me, my dear." She jumped, and shot him a reproving glare, though its intensity was rather diminished by her blush. Was she embarrassed to be caught in an obvious lie?

"Don't startle me like that. Did you listen to our whole conversation then?"

"I did indeed. I heard every detail you gave up to that investigative woman. Should we leave the city tomorrow, or would you rather wait and get captured again?"

"What on earth are you talking about? Mariella is harmless."

"Just as the beggar woman who saw you were pregnant was harmless?" She scowled and crossed her arms.

"Just as attending that Masquerade against everyone's better judgment was harmless?" That cut him to the quick. How had he managed to be so reckless with her life? Sometimes he still imagined how it would have been if they never escaped, and knew a deep twist of dread in his gut.

"All you've proved is that we should both be more careful." He insisted.

"No, I'm saying we should be wary, but not do anything rash. Besides-" she paused and looked up at him through her lashes, "you're with me every night. So long as you stay by my side, I don't see how anything really bad can happen to us." The trust in her eyes was precious and so misplaced. He did not wish to frighten her by telling her that people were killed in their sleep every day, but he knew it was the truth.

"Please, Christine, you must be more careful with the information you give away." She nodded slowly.

"You're right, I suppose. I shall practice a little more caution. But I won't live the rest of my life in fear of friendly neighbors." No, Christine would always be the sort of person who assumed good in people, even when it was not there. He would hardly have a place in her life if she were not. So he would do the worrying and the mistrusting for her. He would do anything to keep the smile back on her face, when it had been gone for so long.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

Christine knew she was happy. Her heart had been clenched and sick feeling for so long, and it was finally unfurling and beginning to breath again. But still she worried. She worried that Erik was right, and she had been too reckless with Mariella. But if she was so very cautious around everyone, how was Anika to know anyone besides her parents when she grew up? She did not want her child to have that pit of loneliness that sat so heavily within her and Erik, but she knew mentioning her concerns to him would only make him feel defensive and probably guilty, so she went to visit Angela instead. She loved the little blue house, but a change of scenery was still in order, and she knew Erik would have heard every word of any conversation held in it.

Her problems seemed trivial on the airy rooftop garden. When Christine expressed her concerns, Angela merely shrugged and said, "That's what siblings are for. I know it seems impossible now, but you'll have more children eventually, and soon there will be more company in your house than you will know what to do with."

"Oh, I'm not sure that's in our future." Christine said, looking at her feet.

"Why ever not? You are young and healthy, and the man's age hardly matters."

"It's not that sort of marriage." Christine admitted. "It was more for convenience than love, I suppose."

"So you do not love him?" Her tone was mild, politely curious but not condemning.

"I do." She said after a pause. It was strange to admit out loud, what Raoul had accused her of and Erik had begged her for and she had denied for so long. "But we agreed our marriage would not be romantic."

"Agreements have little to do with feelings, child."

"But he does not love me."

"And you are absolutely certain of that." A small smile was playing on Angela's lips.

"I-yes. He used to, but now he's so different."

"Hmm. I remain unconvinced." Christine shook her head. Of course it didn't make sense for someone as talented and independent as Erik to marry an uninteresting, sad little woman like herself for anything besides love, but Angela didn't understand their history. They were tied to each other, like a melody and a harmony that didn't sound right on their own.

"It hardly matters one way or the other." Christine said firmly. "What's important is what's best for Anika."

"Well I know a little of this Mariella woman. Word gets around, you know. I've heard her described as a silly, romantic, sweet girl, who probably doesn't have enough cunning to care what your past is beyond it making a good story." There was a long pause in which Angela clearly would have been pleased to hear what exactly Christine was hiding, but Christine certainly wasn't ready to have that conversation today. "I don't know her well enough myself to say anything for certain, of course, and I wouldn't tell her anything you don't want getting around to half of Rome. That girl will repeat anything, if it tickles her fancy." Christine nodded. "Try not to fret too much about finding Anika friends before she can even walk. As children grow they run through the streets and bring home all sorts of friends, and if your husband doesn't glower at them too much they might even stay for dinner." Christine laughed.

"If he insists on glowering I shall make him do so elsewhere. Thank you Angela. I hope I don't trouble you too much complaining of my worries all the time. It's just that you always know what to say to make me feel calm again." The woman gave a warm smile.

"I've had so few worries to calm since my boys grew and found themselves wives, it's nice to think I'm doing something with my time. That's another thing to remember, Christine. Your children will leave one day, and then you might wish you'd spent a little more time thinking about what you want. Especially if what you want is a man living under your roof, who looks at you like you're the very air he breathes." Christine felt herself go red and muttered

"It isn't that simple."

"As you say." Angela held up her hands in defeat. "It's not my concern, at any rate." Christine attempted to move the conversation towards more mundane topics, but her mind never really followed. It didn't help matters to return home and find Erik bouncing Anika as he walked, humming softly. She wanted to wrap her arms around both of them and never let go, but she knew it would only be bothersome to Erik. She settled for announcing herself with a soft hello, and a kiss to Anika's forehead. Even the baby's fragrance was comforting and warm, and Christine stayed there a moment, slightly bent over, nuzzling and babbling nonsense at her daughter. She straightened with a grin, and Erik's face was very close indeed, looking down at her seriously and inscrutably.

"Was she all right while I was gone?" Christine asked, a beat too late.

"Fine." He said distantly, resuming his elegant strides around the room. "Hardly cried at all." Unfortunately, such a report was more of an exception than a rule. Anika cried constantly, and always seemingly for different reasons. Angela assured her this was normal, but sometimes she feared it would drive her to distraction.

A few nights later, when Christine had finally drifted off to sleep after getting up to see to Anika for the second time that night, the cries started up again, unbelievably loud for such a tiny being. Christine gave a muffled groan into her pillow and attempted to stir, though her limbs felt like lead.

"Stay. I'll go." Erik's voice was rough with sleep, but she could already feel him shifting to get up.

"Thank you." She sighed. "I love you." It felt so natural, to have the words slip from between her lips, but she instantly froze as she realized what she had said. "What did you say?" Erik whispered. Christine opened her mouth, but no more impulsive words tumbled forth. Anika's cries broke the pressing silence and Christine shook her head, saying,

"Erik, the baby."

"Right." He said, his voice hollow. He left swiftly, and Christine sat up, completely, painfully awake. Erik would want an explanation. She could say she had professed her love because she was half asleep and did not know what she was saying, that she only loved him platonically or she was just being dramatic because she appreciated him getting up instead of her. She could even pretend to go back to sleep before Erik returned, and hope that neither of them spoke of it in the morning. But she had a strong suspicion that Erik might never have heard those words before, and she didn't want to lie or belittle them when they rang true to her very soul. She thought of Nadir the last time they spoke, saying that if anyone could make Erik happy she could. She thought of Angela, who had only known Erik as a specter involved in her sister's death for the longest time, but still encouraged Christine to open her heart to him. She thought of Anika, whose cries were beginning to fade away under Erik's care. That child had come into this world bright and healthy against every probability, and would not have done so without Erik's help. Suddenly Christine knew that she was done being a frightened girl. Erik had stretched himself so far for her, she could, no she _would _make the walk to the nursery and have honesty between them, finally. Almost certainly he would just give her a small, sympathetic smile and explain that he hadn't thought of her romantically in quite some time, but he still deserved to know the truth.

Her feet dragged and her heart was in her throat as she pushed open the door. Erik looked simultaneously out of place and elegant leaning over Anika's crib. The baby was asleep and he stared down at her with such fondness before he looked up at Christine's entrance. She gulped in a shaky breath and said

"What I said just now, I thought you should know-"

"You were hardly conscious." He said shortly. She sensed he might have been much louder if not for the sleeping baby. "No doubt you mistook me for someone else, perhaps a wealthy young man with blonde hair, and-"

"Erik, stop." She hissed. "Come out in the hallway where we can talk. Please." He stared at her for a long time, then nodded and swept out of the room. She followed him, closing the door softly then leaning back against it for support.

"I meant what I said." She tried to look into his eyes, but they were positively burning and she had to close hers before she continued. "I do love you. The way a wife should love her husband. The way that makes me smile like a fool when I think of you and ache at the thought of being without you, and I know you no longer feel such things for me-"

"I no longer feel such things?" He said incredulously. His voice was far too loud with Anika sleeping in the next room, but Christine absolutely did not care. For the first time hope bloomed in her chest, and her eyes snapped open to look at him. "Christine Daaé-"

"Moulinié." She corrected dazedly.

"Whatever your name is you infuriating woman, are you really thick enough to believe that I ever stopped loving you, that such a thing was even in my power? You are the only thing I have ever loved and the only thing I ever will. I have waded through a lifetime of Hell to steal moments of bliss with you, and I would do so again, over and over, without question. I would rip out my own heart for you if you only asked. I did, when I let you go, and sometimes I wonder if it is some sort of impossible dream that you came back to me. Do you really wish to welcome such sentiments from someone like me? To attempt their return with your foolish imaginings of what a wife owes her husband? I did not ask for you to play at love, when we married. I will do anything I can to make you happy, but please, do not make me suffer by pretending to feel the same way." Christine felt her tears spill over as she gasped.

"The last thing I want is your suffering. I want you to be happy, I want _you_, and I will tell you a hundred times every day until you believe it. I knowwhat love is, and I am not playing at anything. You make me feel strong and alive and whole like no one ever has. I love you, I love you, I _love you_."

"How could you?" He sounded completely, utterly broken. "You know what I am." She reached out and grasped his arm, anchoring him as much as herself.

"What you are is a man with a full heart and a beautiful soul who has attempted to smother both in blackness all his life. But it's too late. I've seen you Erik, and I am not afraid."

"Christine." He whispered, covering her hand with his own, which was shaking terribly. "If this, this madness is true, I don't know how-what am I to do?" She did not catch his meaning, exactly. She was unsure if he was asking generally about the future or if the question was rhetorical, but the only answer she had was for this very moment.

"Kiss me." She said, and her voice did not shake at all. He gasped, and as he took a step towards her and the warm glow of the hallway lamp illuminated his ruined face, she knew no fear. His hand came to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip, and suddenly all of her skin was wonderfully sensitive and attuned to his. He leaned down, his eyes searching hers, and he must have found something reassuring there as he gently closed the distance, their lips just barely brushing. She did not have enough mercy or patience to pull back after such a mere shadow of a kiss, but neither did she lean in and devour him as she had in the cell. She merely latched the fingers of one hand behind his head so he could develop no thoughts of breaking away, lifted up on her toes a little and returned the kiss as lightly as she could. Erik was clumsy and unsure as he attempted to move with her, but she didn't care. She put her other hand on his shoulder, closed her eyes and let the both of them simply feel for a long moment. His other hand came up to slide along her cheekbone and down her jaw, so soft that it was as though he was touching something priceless and extremely fragile. She finally lowered her heels, letting the door support her weight once again, and felt herself biting her lip and blushing like a fool. Their third kiss had not been any more perfect than the last two, but Christine would always remember it as a beautiful start.


	35. Chapter 35

**Sorry about the wait! Finals happened :0**

**Chapter 35**

Erik did not know if he would have been able to support himself if Christine hadn't held his arm and walked him back to his bed. Their bed. He couldn't remember the last time she had slept in her own. She was looking up at him and smiling, though a little worry was beginning to creep in. Perhaps she was beginning to consider the immensity of accepting the heart of a man like him. "Are you all right?" She asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling him down with her.

"Yes." He said woodenly. He was vaguely aware that somewhere deep under his skin he was experiencing more happiness than he had ever thought possible, but more immediately he was confused and more than a little terrified.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" She placed a gentle hand on his knee and he almost jumped off of the bed. She withdrew it with a sigh. "Or do you only love me when I can't be yours?" He shook his head, feeling almost frantic.

"This is more than I ever allowed myself to want. Just give me a moment." She smiled, seeming to understand, and leaned her head on his shoulder, letting the silence wash over them. It was a calm, sublime pause, only shattered when Christine did a rather poor job of stifling a yawn. "Am I boring you, my dear?" He felt his lips twitch despite himself.

"Oh, no, I am sorry. I'm just exhausted."

"Then sleep." He said, getting up to turn out the lamp. He felt a bit more sure of himself, when he knew she couldn't see him. And when he got into bed and she curled towards him as though it was the most natural thing in the world, he wrapped his arms around her, splaying his hands on her back, and let himself truly hold her before this strange fantasy dissolved. In the dark, it was easier to give voice to his fear.

"Christine?"

"Mm?" Her voice was already clouded with sleep.

"Promise me this is not a dream."

"I promise." She said, stretching slightly to place a soft kiss on his cheek. _His _cheek, which he tried not to look at or touch if he could help it. He would have expected such impossibilities to keep him awake all night, but instead they seemed to fill him with a powerful warmth which was quickly pulling him into a deep sleep. For just tonight, he would let everything be real.

He woke the next morning with a jolt, feeling he had forgotten something important. He instinctively reached for Christine, but she was gone. That was unusual, he almost always woke before her. But he had slept so deeply the night before. He sat bolt upright, memories and dreams rushing back, and for a terrible moment he feared that none of it had actually happened. But no, the feel of her lips had been real, he was sure of it. He could not have imagined such a sensation for his life. But where was she now? Clearly trying to establish some distance. Most likely regretting her words and her actions, her moment of pity when loving him had seemed romantic and self-sacrificing in the dark. He needed to see her, suddenly. Needed to witness her fear and avoidance before any foolish hope began to sneak in.

Unsurprisingly, he found her in the nursery. She was in the midst of changing Anika, but looked up at his entrance and gave him a radiant smile. He tried to return it, but didn't think he succeeded.

"Good morning." She offered. "How did you sleep?"

"Well." He nodded. "Perhaps the best I ever have."

"Me too." She said. "I didn't realize how nice it would be to have everything off my chest."

"What do you mean?'

"You are not the only one who has been hiding your feelings." She said. "It's been difficult to pretend I only love half of my family." She gave Anika's cheek a pinch and sent Erik another fond look before slipping past him to wash her hands. _Family. Love. _Those were heavy, unfamiliar words, and try as he might Erik could not seem to fit himself into them. He wondered if Christine realized he was still the same monster who had snatched her from the living world and only refrained from killing the man she loved because she'd begged him not to. No matter what evidence she gave him, Erik could not see himself as someone any sane person would want to truly be a part of their family. Suddenly arms encircled him from behind, squeezing tight over his stomach, and it was pure instinct to grasp the upper arm of his assailant and whirl them in front of him. No one had successfully snuck up behind him since he was twelve. He let go immediately when he recognized Christine, but the damage was already done. She had already given a gasp of pain and surprise, and would most likely bruise where he had held her.

"I am so sorry." He said, horrified. "I didn't know, I didn't mean to."

"It's all right." She said, taking a shaky breath. "I should have known better than to surprise you like that." He shook his head.

"A normal person would be able to be touched without assuming it's a threat. Are you badly hurt?"

"No." She smiled, took his hands and placed them on her waist. He held his breath, but she did not grimace or shatter in his hands. "And it is a good thing I have no interest in touching normal people." They stayed like that for a moment, her hands keeping his in place. They were so small over his long skeletal fingers, which marred the perfection of her rosy pink dress. She seemed to follow the direction of his gaze as she laced her fingers through his and let their hands hang in the space between them, swinging slightly. He cautiously met her eyes, and she was looking at him as though she expected something, but he hadn't a clue what. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and squeeze her close to him and never let go, to protect her from all of the things that might hurt her and to keep her _his._ But he was the thing most likely to hurt her, what further evidence did he need? He had no right to hold her close, now or ever. She finally relinquished his hands, and he practically fled to his piano, needing to let out the pent up energy in his fingers without further ruining things between him and Christine.

He hid there for the majority of the day, only leaving to help with Anika, speaking as little to Christine as possible. But finally she came into the music room and said, "I just put Anika down for her nap and your playing is a bit…"

"Disturbing?" There had been a lot of dissonant chords and angry descending sixteenth notes today.

"Loud." He nodded and folded his hands in his lap. Christine murmured her thanks and he could do nothing but nod again. She began idly thumbing through the music on his piano. It was a stack of compositions he was considering sending to the music printer. Even though he was publishing anonymously, the printer insisted on a title for each piece, and he was having more trouble naming his songs than he did composing them. Christine stopped on one and said,

"You named a song _Anika,_ how precious." He nodded, hoping he hadn't overstepped his boundaries.

"It sounded like her, somehow." He watched as she read over the piece, her lips moving a little, and knew that she was hearing it in her mind.

"Beautiful." She sighed, then continued to search through his music. "I don't see anything titled Christine." She said lightly.

"That would be rather redundant." He scoffed. "If I named every song you inspired after you there would be no point in titling my music at all." She smiled, her cheeks going pink, and rested her elbows on the back of the piano.

"Is that why you hid in here? To write loud, disturbing music that I inspired?" She wasn't smiling anymore.

"No, that music was my fault." He gestured at her arm, where indeed bruises were forming. "I ruin everything I touch."

"I'm hardly ruined, dear." She frowned. "I was more disturbed to have my husband avoid me all day after I told him I loved him the night before." He avoided her eyes.

"I don't know what I'm doing." He ground out. He never admitted incompetence, preferring to eradicate it before it was noticed, but when it came to Christine there were no methods of independent study which would make up for his ignorance. "I am used to loving you from afar, to pretending to feel less than I do. I don't know what is-expected of me now." And clearly acting on instinct when it came to actually being allowed to tell her how he felt and touch her was a recipe for disaster. Christine tilted her head.

"Nothing is expected of you. Act how you wish. If you do not want me to embrace you or share my feelings anymore you need only say the word." She could not honestly think such a thing, not when she was leaning on the very piano where he had poured out his love through the keys, and where he'd sat and had despicable fantasies about how her creamy skin would look there, bare and sprawled across the dark wood.

"That is not what I want." He could feel his face heat up, and wished desperately for his mask.

"I didn't think so." She said, her lips pursed a little bit.

"You're teasing me." He realized.

"And you're thinking too much." She moved to sit next to him. "We're married and we love each other. This might be the least complicated things have ever been between us."

"But now there is so much more to lose."

"You're not going to lose me, not if I have any say in the matter." He swallowed.

"I want to believe that. So badly."

"I know." She mustered yet another smile for him but he had to imagine even her patience was thinning. "And I think one day you will." This was one of those times when Erik fervently wished he shared his lovely wife's optimism.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

"_Othello?_ You don't think that's a bit advanced for an infant?" Erik shrugged, opening the thick volume regardless. Soon after they moved in he had sent her out with a list of books he "absolutely required" and she'd taken to begging him to read to her and Anika during the evenings.

"Our child is going to have a working understanding of the classics by the time she is able to read them." Christine grinned and ducked under his arm, so that it was around both her and Anika, who was cradled in her lap. Erik gave her a bemused smile. He still looked adorably lost every time she initiated contact, but at least it seemed to startle him less now.

"And if our child is not quite as precocious as you were?" It was true Erik didn't talk about his childhood much, but he mentioned learning or reading things at such astoundingly early ages that Christine knew if nothing else, it had been quite educational.

"Then she will probably be much happier." He frowned. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck, and he only tensed for a moment.

"Happier than Desdemona, at any rate." She said, nodding at the book, and he sounded relieved as he began reading instead of discussing his past. She relaxed, letting Erik's rich voice wash over her, and was soon asleep. She awoke to Erik lowering her into his bed, and she couldn't resist cupping his face in her hands. He just shook his head incredulously, his lips brushing the inside of her wrists. He turned out the light and lay down next to her, and a hand skimmed lightly down her arm, pausing at her hip for a moment before withdrawing. She rolled over to face him, quite awake. The touch had been innocent enough, but it reminded her of Raoul's gentle advances on nights he wanted to be together. She placed a tentative hand on Erik's chest, hovering over him and wishing she could see him and gain some clue about what he wanted. She felt herself go scarlet as she admitted to herself that she was more than ready to make their marriage a true one, but the last thing she wanted was to rush Erik when he was just becoming accustomed to a loving relationship. She still had to make her intentions clear every time she wished to put her arms around him, and he'd never kissed her without being verbally invited to do so.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you." He said after a long pause. Hardly a passionate love struck declaration. Even in his own bed, which she had practically forced her way into, he still thought he was bothering her. Whether or not he chose to admit it, Christine knew that Erik still wasn't certain of her feelings. She needed to be patient.

"You didn't." She said, sighing rather louder than she meant to as she rested her head on his chest instead.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She assured him more warmly. She smiled in the dark as his arm came around her. This was enough for now.

Still, while Erik might doubt Christine's love on occasion, she was gaining ever more faith in his. It was evident all over his unmasked face when he looked at her or spoke her name, and never more so than when they sang together. It wasn't just his voice, which seemed to come from everywhere during her lesson the next day and seeped into Christine like liquid fire. It was his eyes, following her as though she was all there was and all there ever would be. She hoped he could see it in her too, how much she needed these lessons, and him, regardless of the fact that her technique was almost perfect by now. He did seem more confident seated at his piano, offering her a rare, suggestive smile when the lyrics of their duet became especially sentimental. When the song ended the house rang with silence, the two of them leaning towards each other slightly and breathing fast. The spell was broken by an overzealous rap on the door.

"Mariella." Christine said with a rueful grin. "It's almost time for Anika's nap, would you mind?"

"Of course not." He said, rising from the piano bench. His mind sounded miles away. Christine watched him leave, waiting a long moment before she answered the door. She was met with luscious dark curls, plump lips and runaway Italian barreling into her home without being asked. Mariella's visits had become almost as commonplace as Angela's, but Christine still could not tell what to make of them. The woman was sweet and endearing, but also entirely too concerned with Christine's past. Christine had managed to evade any concrete connections through half truths and vague answers, but it still made her uneasy to be dishonest. She wished she could simply tell Mariella everything. The woman seemed well meaning and kind, but Christine knew she couldn't risk her family's safety because she wanted to see the best in people. Nonetheless Mariella's constant laughter and good cheer were infectious, and Christine couldn't quite help considering her a friend.

"That was _beautiful._" Mariella gushed the moment she was through the door.

"What was?"

"I heard you and who I can only assume is your husband singing. I was about to knock but I couldn't interrupt _that._ Stars above you really are them aren't you?"

"Really are who?" Christine asked sharply, the air around her going cold.

"The Swedish soprano and the opera ghost! Oh everyone laughed at me when I talked about the story in the papers all that time ago, said it was French sensationalism for silly girls like me, but I never forgot. And I thought it was you, but I didn't want to be an idiot and say anything until I was sure, but who else could have a voice like that?"

"Mariella." Christine cut her off, panicked. She was fairly sure Erik wasn't listening, as Anika's nursery was far away from the front room, and he said he had taken to barricading himself in his study when Mariella came by because her chatter hurt his ears, but if he was within earshot then the foolish woman might have minutes left to live. She spoke lower just in case. "You do not know what you are saying. Do you see how dangerous it is for you to-to think this?"

"I don't just think it. It's true. Isn't it?" Christine was sure the answer was all over her face, and if Mariella was intent on spreading her thoughts it hardly mattered what Christine said.

"If it is true, and people hear about it, that means my family, everyone in the world that I love is in danger. That we have to run away from the first place I've felt safe in so long to avoid getting arrested and exploited."

"Isn't it just him that would get arrested?" Christine shuddered, imagining Erik on display behind the bars of a cage once again.

"I would rather go to jail than know he was there. I would do anything for my husband, Mariella." Christine tried to glare at her and look menacing but was unsure if she succeeded. What exactly did she have to threaten, anyway? She didn't think she could bring herself to hurt the foolish woman, if it came to that. But would she let Erik, if it was the only way to preserve his safety? She didn't think she wanted to know the answer.

"Oh Christine, I would never tell, if that's how you feel. I swear it. I just wanted to ensure that you truly want to be with him."

"I do." Christine said fervently. "I didn't always, but now I cannot imagine life without him." Mariella sighed.

"You must tell me the whole story of how you two ended up together, it sounds wonderful." Christine shook her head.

"This is not a story, it is my life. You understand that my husband is a violent, dangerous man?" Mariella nodded, mute for once. "And if you repeat what you know, if I must choose between defending you or my family, you understand you do not stand a chance?" She nodded again, wide eyed.

"I should go." She said, her voice very small.

"That might be best." Christine said heavily.

"I promise I won't say anything. Not about something like this." Christine bit her lip, wishing she could be certain. The moment Mariella was out the door Christine fairly collapsed into a chair, feeling dizzy and convinced she had done the wrong thing by letting her leave at all. Erik rushed into the front room and she prepared for the worst, expecting a harsh lecture at least and possibly threats towards Mariella's life. Instead he dropped to his knees before her, slid a hand behind her head and gave her a warm, heady kiss that had her grasping the lapels of his jacket and sighing. He pulled back, looking stunned, and said,

"You're shaking." She leaned her forehead into his, refusing to let go of his jacket.

"You heard everything?" He nodded. "Then you know how foolish I've been. I should never have spoken to her at all." He shook his head, lifting her chin with one finger.

"There was nothing you could have done, it seems she figured it out on her own. I'll follow the girl." She felt her face fall at that. She didn't want to be the reason for harm to come to her friend either. "And I will speak to you before I do anything… rash."

"Thank you." She said, embracing him fiercely. "And please, watch out for yourself. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

"I'll be careful." He promised, holding her just as tight. "I have too much to lose."


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

The modest one story home seemed a bit underwhelming for a woman who had the power to ruin his life. It was also disturbingly bright and neat, providing him with few shadowy corners to skulk in once he slipped inside. He settled for a pantry with slats in the door, taking care not to spill flour all over himself as he entered. He watched as Mariella gave her husband a kiss on the brow. He was a round, bald, stumpy looking man, rather a contrast to his wife's tall, buxom figure and runaway tongue. Now however, the woman was quiet, muttering a soft good evening before leaving Erik's view, but preparing dinner by the sound of it.

A toddler ran into the room, squealing "Mama!" his grubby hands waving in the air.

"My baby, how are you?" The child began babbling, and Erik's attention soon slipped away. Inevitably his mind wandered to Christine. Of course she'd been frightened by Mariella's discovery, but Erik was still shocked by her protectiveness of him. He was always trying to make Christine feel safe, but it never occurred to him that she might do the same for him. It was a strange thought, that his welfare might matter to someone, but it wasn't unwelcome. He was brought back to the uncomfortable present by a clattering of pans and a shout from the husband of

"Ay Benito! Get out of the kitchen if you're going to get in the way." The little boy ran by Erik's view again, still giggling and now significantly messier. Erik pursed his lips. _He _had never felt the need to carry on like that when he was a child, and he was certain that Anika would never be so bothersome and ill behaved when she grew older. "_Dolce_, something troubles you." The husband continued once the boy was gone.

"Of course I'm troubled, half my sauce is on the floor." He tsked.

"Forget the sauce, you have been quiet since you came home. Did something happen, when you visited your friend?" She came to stand beside him, nodding.

"I found something out about Christine, something she didn't want anyone to know."

"And of course you asked her about it." He said. It sounded as though they'd had similar conversations before. Mariella nodded.

"I think I really upset her."

"And what is this grand secret of hers?"

"I can't tell you." He chuckled.

"That's never stopped you before."

"But this time it could be really bad if someone found out." He frowned.

"Is the girl in danger?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Has this revelation made you think less of her?"

"No. Actually I'm rather impressed." A corner of Erik's mouth lifted. It was impressive that Christine spent all day with him and still managed to retain her sanity.

"Then don't tell me. Don't tell anyone. Don't even talk to her about it again if you were not supposed to know. She'll forget, eventually."

"You're right, of course." That was all very well to say, but Erik still wasn't convinced. "What are you going to do with your silly wife?"

"You aren't silly, you're too clever for your own good." She leaned in for a kiss, and Erik wished violently that he could escape. He'd always been uncomfortable with other peoples' displays of affection, having never experienced one himself. But now that kisses miraculously were part of his life, Erik was sure he and Christine never looked like _that._ Nothing further of interest was said that night, and Erik waited for the family to go to sleep before departing. He wasn't entirely surprised to arrive home and find Christine sitting in his bed, knees drawn up under her chin.

"What happened?" She asked the moment he came through the door. He gave her a summary of his evening as he shrugged out of his jacket. "So she won't tell. We don't need to worry anymore."

"I wouldn't stop worrying just yet." He said, moving behind his dresser to change into nightwear. "I still intend to tail her for a while and ensure she doesn't have a change of heart."

"If you think that's best." Christine didn't sound so sure.

"Will you be all right with Anika if I am gone frequently? Perhaps you could ask Angela for extra help."

"Oh I'll be fine." She said dismissively as he climbed into bed. "Most women aren't lucky enough to have a husband who works from home in the first place." His head hardly hit the pillow before she was in his arms, and any answer he'd been forming quickly fled his mind. They were silent a long moment before Christine said, "Where were you that you could hear that whole conversation anyway?"

"You know I am adept at concealing myself Christine. I assure you I was not seen."

"Yes, but where? I'm just curious."

"I believe it was a cupboard or pantry of some sort." Christine burst into giggles.

"You were in the pantry? Goodness can you imagine if she'd needed something, and opened it to find you lurking in her canned goods?"

"You find this dangerous situation funny, do you?" She nodded, failing to hide a smile and suddenly her sharp little fingers were digging into his ribs. He'd seen ballet girls tickle each other countless times, but it still took a moment for Erik to realize what was happening, and he did so with a yelp of surprise and a laugh that was entirely beyond his control. He let the madness continue for a moment before gently pinning Christine's arms above her head.

"Devious woman. We'll wake the baby." He found it very hard to sound stern just then, and wondered where his endless supply of ill humor had gone.

"Heaven forbid." She grinned, darting up to steal a kiss.

All of Erik's lost gloom was back the next day when he had to leave his warm bed and follow the nuisance of a woman once again. He'd like nothing more than to believe her promise and go on about his life, but he knew people did not often keep sensitive information to themselves when they could gain something from divulging it. However each day that Mariella seemed to spread every bit of gossip but theirs, Christine grew a little more smug, saying "I knew she wouldn't tell" when he slipped into bed at night. Once he grumbled that he'd be glad not to have to kill the woman, as she probably wouldn't stop chattering the entire time the lasso was around her neck. Christine didn't speak to him for a day after that, and made a point of visiting Mariella and making amends. As she pointed out, remaining friends with the woman could only encourage her to keep their secret, but he strongly expected she had done so at least partially to spite him. But in time even he had to admit that it seemed entirely unlikely Mariella would say anything at this point if she hadn't already, and he agreed to let the subject drop, at least for the moment.

Christine looked relieved at the news, and he noted dark stains under her eyes with concern. Caring for Anika without him had been a burden, whatever she said. He'd missed the two of them in the long days spent apart. It wasn't the soul rending absence he'd felt under the opera after Christine left, knowing he'd never see her again. It was a smaller, duller thing, a sinking feeling when he wanted to share a thought with Christine or cradle Anika close but couldn't. He and Christine had hardly seen each other while he let his paranoia run rampant.

"I'm taking you to the opera." He decided aloud.

"You're what?"

"We're going to evaluate what passes for musical talent in this city, as soon as possible. Buy a nice dress, ask Angela to take Anika for the night." She crossed her arms.

"And is that how you ask a lady to the opera?"

"My apologies." He said, extending his hand towards her, palm up. "Dearest Christine, would you please do me the great honor of accompanying me to the opera?" She placed her hand in his, saying,

"I suppose," with a coquettish smile. He brought her hand to his lips, a liberty he would not have dared a short time ago.

It should have been a simple thing, to take his wife out, but of course nothing was simple where they were concerned. Christine fretted about being apart from Anika for an entire night, and Erik constantly had to reassure her despite his own misgivings. If he trusted anyone with the baby it was Giovanni's kind, practical daughter, but what if something happened and he wasn't there to help? Christine and Erik finally managed to convince each other that they were allowed a night off, and Anika was bundled off to Angela with a mountain of supplies and a stern list of instructions written out by Erik. Then Christine had to buy tickets and wait for him in a private box because he simply refused to be visible in public so soon after the Mariella incident. He donned the mask as a precaution in case he was seen, and it was at once reassuring and more stifling than he remembered. He found a back entrance to the grand opera house in order to avoid the worst of the crowds, and the narrow staircases and dusty props were visceral, not altogether pleasant reminders of his time in Paris.

But all the fuss was worth it as he settled in to his seat next to Christine, who looked radiant in a rose colored dress with silver bows down the front. He could still scarcely believe that he was allowed to sit next to her and whisper criticisms and hear hers like any other husband (though of course their opinions were much more informed than those of the common masses), and even lean in and kiss the curve of her shoulder when the mediocre performance became too tedious.

"Do you miss it?" He asked during the intermission. He was torn between wishing it were Christine center stage singing the opera the way it was meant to sound, and being very glad that she was beside him. She gave a small sigh.

"I've not though of it much since I left. There have always been…"

"Other concerns." He supplied.

"Yes." She paused. "But seeing it now, I suppose I do miss it. Singing for an audience feels like nothing else. It's all I ever really wanted when I was younger." She looked around and smiled at him, though it was a little sad. "I never imagined myself as a wife and mother, but now that I am that seems a lot more important than a few years of-" she gestured at the stage "a rush." He nodded. "You know, I always thought you would have been on stage, in a different life." He let out a short chuckle of disbelief.

"That would have required a very different life indeed, my dear."

"No I mean it." She insisted. "There's your voice, obviously. But also the way you move and enunciate. You're a bit of a natural born performer." He peered at her, trying to decide if she was teasing him. After a moment she said, "Then again, I suppose you could have been almost anything."

"Well, as much as you didn't imagine yourself as a wife, you must believe I pictured myself as a husband and father even less. And I admit I am enjoying being wrong far too much to wish to be anything else." She grasped his hand where it rested on his knee, and leaned over to kiss him just as the orchestra started up. Yes, he most definitely preferred Christine next to him rather than under a spotlight and just out of reach.


	38. Chapter 38

**AN: So there's no explicit smut in this chapter (mostly because I suck at writing it), but fair warning that there is a little more steaminess than there's been in the past. And once again, thank you to anyone who takes the time to read and review :D**

**Chapter 38**

It was strange, Christine thought, to feel the building flutter in her stomach that she associated with stage fright as she left the opera house. But she felt as though she had a very important performance ahead of her, and was unsure if Erik even had the script. She thought that he wanted the same things as her, but sometimes it was so hard to tell, and the last thing she wanted to do was frighten or offend him. It was very quiet on the carriage ride home, but Christine couldn't muster the courage to ask what he was thinking. Once they were in the music room, where they both felt the most comfortable, he said,

"Did I mention how stunning you look tonight?" And she smiled, feeling the tension leave her a bit.

"Thank you. You look very handsome yourself." It was true, he cut quite a figure in his black eveningwear, and though the mask was an unwelcome barrier between them, it did add to his air of elegance and mystery. But this wasn't a performance, she realized. She knew the man behind the fine clothes and under the mask, and she wanted all of him. Now. Tonight. Erik just snorted and said,

"Yes, I'm quite sure I was the most dashing man at the opera."

"You were." She insisted. "Anyway, this pretty dress is quite restricting." She walked to the doorway and looked back over her shoulder. "I must get it off." Erik's heated gaze pinned her, his lips slightly parted, and Christine continued down the hallway to her room with a smug grin on her face. It truly was a relief to remove the complicated dress and the new corset, which was fashioned especially tight for use under evening dresses, but the nerves returned slightly as she regarded her nightgown. She'd bought it the same day she purchased the pink dress, the same day that Angela said she would be happy to care for Anika all night while Erik and Christine went out. It was then Christine had realized she and Erik were not likely to have a night alone together, uninterrupted by Anika's cries for some time, and she had proceeded to the undergarments section of a shop with the heat rising in her cheeks. She'd barely given a glance to the wide array of saucy corsets covered with ribbons and embroidery, which were paired with matching chemises and drawers that were clearly meant to be seen. She could hardly imagine facing Erik in such provocative undergarments, and couldn't picture him having the slightest clue how to get her out of them. Instead she'd opted for a plain, sensible corset, and saved the generous swatches of lace and extra bows for a smooth satin nightgown, which still retained some degree of modesty.

She knew she'd made the right choice as she slipped the nightgown over her head now. She still felt like herself as she unpinned her hair and brushed out her curls, though the cut of this nightgown was a little more frivolous and daring than what she had been wearing to bed lately. Then again, she was hardly planning on having it on for long, was she? The thought had her dropping her hairbrush, and she shook her head at her silliness. She knew her husband. No matter what he wanted he would never initiate physical love between them, probably still believing himself undesirable to her, and they had rather missed the chance of easily falling into it on their wedding night as she and Raoul had. Raoul was always the one to take charge of such matters with a soft smile and whispers of reassurance when they were together, but tonight it had to be her.

Erik would be frightened, she realized as she regained her hairbrush and continued her work. His nerves would far outweigh hers, as he was always so terrified of ruining everything between them with the slightest misstep. One of them would have to keep their heads tonight, and Christine gave herself a stern look in the mirror before leaving her bedroom, repeating to herself that it was foolish to feel immodest and forward before her husband who she loved very much.

As she emerged into the music room, she wasn't really surprised to find Erik at the piano, still fully dressed and masked, playing something sweet and tantalizing she thought she remembered from Paris. Suddenly her mouth was dry. What was she to say? "Come to bed" seemed cliché, and he would think she only meant to sleep at any rate. Anything more direct seemed impossible in the peaceful blue house that reminded her of the sea. It would have to be action, then. As she walked towards him he looked up and smiled at her but continued to play, and all at once she was jealous of that infernal piano, which captured her husband's attention even now. She wanted him to be able to think of nothing but her.

She moved between the piano and the bench, hardly able to believe her daring as she grasped his wrists, moved his hands off the keys and climbed into his lap, her knees resting on the bench on either side of his hips. He gasped, going perfectly still, and as she released his hands they fairly floated to her waist. "May I?" She asked, running one finger along the bottom edge of his mask. He nodded mutely and she slipped it off, placing it carefully on the end of the bench. She leaned in to kiss him, and it quickly became longer and deeper than anything they had shared previously, her hands roaming inside his jacket and his sliding down to her hips, his fingertips digging in slightly. She was disappointed when he pulled back, but the feeling was short lived as he skimmed his lips down the edge of her neck instead, then across her collarbone. She sighed and let her head fall back, shifting slightly on his lap, and that had him pulling away from her in earnest, the fear she had expected quite present in his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He said, and she couldn't hear that now, not when everything between them was so beautiful.

"No." She said softly, cupping his face in her hands. "I don't want any apologies or regrets tonight. No sadness."

"What do you want, Christine?" She told herself not to blush at the question but felt it happening regardless.

"I thought I was making that rather obvious." He swallowed, his eyes widening. "I want _you_. But only if you want me in the same way."

"You are all I have ever wanted." He brushed his knuckles down her cheek, and she wanted to cry but now was not the time. "But not because you think this is what we must do because we are married, or because you pity me. Never just for my pleasure." She shook her head.

"It's got nothing to do with any of that. I wouldn't be-here" she looked down at her choice of seating with a smirk "if I did not want to be, for your pleasure and mine." He sighed.

"You do not need to say that or do this to spare my feelings. There must be a limit even to your self-sacrifice. I know what I look like, and I don't expect anything from you."

"Hush." She said, kissing him on each cheek, his forehead and finally his mouth. "Stop insulting my husband. I'm not sacrificing anything, I promise." He took a deep breath.

"You know I've never-" She nodded. She'd expected as much. "I don't wish to disappoint you." He said, moving a bit of her hair behind her shoulder.

"You won't." She assured him.

"But you must tell me, if I do something wrong, or-"

"There's no right or wrong." She could feel herself going red again. Goodness this was hard to talk about. "But we will both be honest, and tell each other how we are feeling." He nodded, looking resigned. "Erik." She caught his eye, realized their noses would have been touching if he had one. "It's only you and me. We're going to be fine."

"There is no only about it. You, wanting to be with me, is everything, and I will do anything within my power to try to be worthy." He stood without warning, supporting her with ease, and headed in the direction of his bedroom. Erik had carried her to bed before when she fell asleep elsewhere, but it had never been like this. Now she was entirely awake, her limbs wrapped around him and her eyes level with his. He laid her down on the bed, and as she refused to relinquish her hold on him he had no choice but to follow her there. He hovered over her, supporting his weight on his forearms, and said, "It's not too late. We can just sleep, if you'd rather. I won't be-" She cut him off with a pointed kiss. He returned it slowly and awkwardly at first, but then she could feel the moment he stopped over thinking and let himself really kiss her back, and it was like music. The piano of gentle kisses and soft words of love soon turned into the staccato of quickened breath, the urgent crescendo of hands and mouths, and a whole measure of rest when their clothes were finally gone, and Erik looked down at her with such admiration and love, and the expression was more beautiful than anything skin deep could ever be. The final movement was unpolished, but it was also soaring and pure and uncontrolled in the best possible way, and Christine found sounds coaxed out of her which she had certainly never achieved in any of their lessons. When all finally fell quiet, she and Erik collapsed into each others arms and she managed to press her exhausted lips to his sweat dampened chest a few more times, and his fingertips trailed up and down the dip in her back, and she felt more fulfilled and happy and _home _than she could ever remember feeling before.

"Christine?" He whispered, seeming as unwilling to break the lovely silence as she was.

"Mmm?" Was about all she could muster.

"I-you are amazing. The most amazing woman that ever lived." She grinned against his skin.

"You're a rather excellent man yourself." The mumbled words were barely intelligible, but the sentiment was so clear she might as well have sung them at the top of her voice.


End file.
